Memory.

Homer, Hurricane, Bahamas, 1898

RIVERS of REPOSE

The willows carried a slow sound, 

A sarabande the wind mowed on the mead. 

I could never remember 

That seething, steady leveling of the marshes 

Till age had brought me to the sea. 

Flags, weeds. And remembrance of steep alcoves 

Where cypresses shared the noon’s 

Tyranny; they drew me into hades almost. 

And mammoth turtles climbing sulphur dreams 

Yielded, while sun-silt rippled them 

Asunder ... 

How much I would have bartered! the black gorge 

And all the singular nestings in the hills 

Where beavers learn stitch and tooth. 

The pond I entered once and quickly fled— 

I remember now its singing willow rim. 

And finally, in that memory all things nurse; 

After the city that I finally passed 

With scalding unguents spread and smoking darts 

The monsoon cut across the delta 

At gulf gates ... There, beyond the dykes 

I heard wind flaking sapphire, like this summer, 

And willows could not hold more steady sound. 

Hart Crane