Homeric Simile
Landsmen pressed by war to serve at sea
sicken of the reeling deck and raw
salt winds that roll the waters endlessly.
On sky devoid of bird, with jib and yaw,
the masthead weaves a dizzy, ovaling track,
as prow-tall seas, upreaching, pitch and claw
the groaning ship across the ocean's back.
Then do they long for Ithaka: for breeze
perfumed by cedar groves, for surfaces
of stillness underfoot, where houses keep
an upright angle to the sky, and seas
enclosed in haven lie, at last, asleep.
—So do I long for you, and though I see
a gulf between us, bitter, broad and deep,
I hope, at last, to anchor in your quiet lee.
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Threaded Mode
