Winslow Homer, “Eastern Point Light”
Over star-glimmered waves, we journeyed and sailed under the moon.
There we bemoaned our fate, still sailing—railed under the moon.
We see the fork-tongued serpent, slither-scaled–
no siren, silver-voiced with hair unveiled under the moon.
From the towering giant, one-eyed, we quailed,
but when blinded he was curtailed under the moon.
On blood-wine seas, the winds caught and prevailed–
yet what of the gods, we flattered, yet failed, under the moon?
What lands should we conquer? If heroes, we’re hailed.
What tales of those places to you we’d regale under the moon?
Do we return to love, or to marriages failed?
My own wife, what of her travails under the moon?
Too far, too soon, the poet sleeps unassailed
to the gentle rhythm of the waves, inhales, exhales, under the moon
A re-worked ghazal for dVerse.