Ordinary voices,
screams,
come faintly up
from the bay.
The present erodes
the past,
as Poseidon,
perfect majesty
because perfect control,
perfect health,
perfect adjustment -
stands flexed
to his divine sea.
Gulf eternal,
the never-fathomed,
the bravest because
the clearest,
under a volcanic hand,
cinders barely
extinguished -
beauty divine
but past.
BAY OF NAPLES