Twisted fragments of violet paper,
The dawn drops you
Into the green bowl filled with the day's grey waves.
I love the night's
Deep purple grapes
That yesterday
Were crushed and spilled,
In long and sluggish rivers
That joined and made a sea,
Where, half-guessed through the mist,
Two golden sails
Drifted on silently.
The blue fume of my dreams
Is laced with violet flame.
One golden sail alone came back to rest
In its nest
Among the reeds.
The other sail is lost;
Behind the mist,
Beyond the craggy rock,
About which race in jagged white
The waves,
Horizon on horizon far away
She waits.
But through the day,
Comes no faint song, nor creaking of the ropes.
Twisted fragments of violet paper,
Charred and fallen:
Out of the green bowl lazily coils grey smoke.