Here's a poem which I discovered because I
looked back, and found it because Michael Cuddihy here
said he liked it very much.
And I found it in one of these books, so I'm going to read it.
It's called "Voyaging to the Antipodes."
"I embark now from this land of stone pots
and leaves, and enter the sea.
I plunge my arm into her secret places.
My compass turns to ichor.
I sink.
From her lips, there grows savage bouquets of kelp.
Between her hips, the drown grind in their deaths.
I join them.
Cleanse me woman of asphalt, of diffidence,
of the rage of wives.
My bush floats like a lotus in her green death.
I uncoil it to sleep.
Her turbulence subsides.
Day comes.
The waves tread one by one to customary beaches.
The sun blinks.
She awakes.
Her eyes are dry stones.
Her spray, my sweat.
My kissed mouth chafed by her salt.
Sargasso of what latitudes?
Under what stars?"