A Memory

I remember The crackle of the palm trees Over the mooned white roofs of the town... The shining town... And the tender fumbling of the surf On the sulphur-yellow beaches As we sat... a little apart... in the close-pressing night.

The moon hung above us like a golden mango, And the moist air clung to our faces, Warm and fragrant as the open mouth of a child And we watched the out-flung sea Rolling to the purple edge of the world, Yet ever back upon itself... As we...

Inadequate night... And mooned white memory Of a tropic sea... How softly it comes up Like an ungathered lily.