I did not, for twenty years, weave and unweave my deceits and webs,
Keeping thy throne against the day of thy return,
To bid farewell again, not soon nor ever.
Thou art restless, thou sayest? I, too.
I would see what skies, what seas, what men and women
Tarried thee in thy return to me.
Take, then, the oar Poseidon did decree, but take me also.
Soon enough we cross the tide that knows no oar,
Only the ferryman's pole.
Show me, then, these seas of peril,
Awake with monsters, magic, angry gods.
Then let us seek new lands that never heard the sea,
Plant our oar, raise altar, and have peace.
Return to Poems
Return to Wind Off the Hilltop
Copyright © Earl Wajenberg, 2013