The lion faced the deep sea,
And the sun withdrew its tongue from the deep water.
The wind turned over a pale shell.
This was your first experience.
You made a gesture so sad, so lonely…
You slept, almost on top of your fire,
And there was a free concourse between the sea
And your dream.
The lion was awake all night.
These logs gave you no warmth:
The green log of China, nor
The bedouin log, nor
The log of Hawaii,
The island log.
And all the forces the sea awoke in you
Headed inland, and gathered about a woman
Who had been waiting that whole night for you.
The lion licked your face at dawn
And you went to her.
-- published in Poetry magazine, August 1966