If only softer woes could dredge the weed-soaked pearls,
or toss them deep between the roughest crags
where Thetis goes, fish-scaled in the stormy curl
to hide among the sea-birds’ sea-soaked eggs —
though tasteless, I can smell the noxious water wafting,
so spill it, stranger, across the new-born sea
or toss yourself into the sweetness slowly softening
your lips, your beautiful mind, your memory