Like a hand that tilts a cup
to take in wine’s stored light,
and, in a dance of veils,
to peel away
its inner tangs
and hidden scents,
so people of old
thought of seas
as broad, strong backs
of bulls and steeds,
bearing off hollow ships—
what can they do
but lean and sway,
or even tip
with the onrush of each wave,
gripping them below,
from the deep,
only to be tripped
and hip-wide cracked?
As in the tale
of the Larin sisters
