Sestina
The fog is coming, crawling over all
The horn moans “Here I am, I am”
Where are the islands? They have disappeared
I look for masts, for any certainty.
The horn moans “Here I am, I am”
Bewildered, my eyes search and search
I look for masts, for any certainty.
Forms waver as the curtain falls.
Bewildered, my eyes search and search
The shore is full of treachery and guile
Forms waver as the curtain falls.
Beware the rocks—disaster lies ahead.
The shore is full of treachery and guile
The fog is coming, crawling over all
Beware the rocks—disaster lies ahead.
Where are the islands? They have disappeared.
Lari Smith