Enough of beauty – I have devoured
small boats curtseying at anchor,
green palace-dotted hills swarming
the spice-scented shore of Asia Minor.
I couldn’t chew another mouthful
of waves, scything and winnowing light
with the wash of every passing craft,
and each heave of the ocean’s breath.
Well, maybe just one last taste,
seasoned with a pinch of myrrh:
the taxi driver says, ‘Today hot
but slow, slow, winter comes…”