By the Salted Thames
If I had time or money like this salted sea,
stretching from the North of the Circular Valley
to the southern edge of the River Thames,
I would never regret your dawdling pose,
but praise your pride for standing up to the test
that demonstrates you are a woman of grit,
where many women have lost their pearls
and followed other men to their misty graves :
I would praise you till the night descends
upon the dewy beach and the swaying trees
which lie silent in the surging waves
that carry water from shore to shore.
We could come here every scorching noon
with two glasses of wine and two chairs
on which to sit all day watching stars fall,
and the sun disappears from the beach,
as seconds slump to minutes and hours
But now I hear the loud ticking of the clock
reminding me of the imminent end of our day,
when the seagulls return to their lonely nests;
or overhead the sky is a dull, gloomy breed;
when evening dews come to torment the eves
of rooftops preparing to shield from the night
and hide their occupants from the darkness.
Soon we can no longer see our straying faces,
covered by the night clothes woven over the day
and over the idle sky staring at the conquest of sun.
I would no longer look into your ethereal eyes
and see the transcript of my destiny in naked poses,
but wait for the moon to have a gaudy urge
to spray its lights over the salty sea.
Let us hurry into our bunkers for the night
where we huddle together and consume our time
with the last seconds frittering away every moment.
Flight of the dragonfly 