This blue half circle of sea moving transparently on the sand as pale as salt was Cleopatra's hotel: here is a guesthouse built and broken utterly since an amorous modern prince lived in this scoured shell. Now from the ruined hive of a town the cherry-skinned soldiers stroll down to undress to idle on the white beach. Up there, the immensely long road goes by to Tripoli: the wind and dust reach the secrets of the whole poor town whose masks would still deceive a passer by, faces with sightless doors for eyes, with cracks like tears oozing at corners. A dead tank alone leans where the gossips stood. I see my feet like stones underwater. The logical little fish converge and nip the flesh imagining I am one of the dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OF DISTRESS BEING HUMILIATED BY THE CLASSICAL CHINESE POETS by HAYDEN CARRUTH NATURE'S QUESTIONING by THOMAS HARDY UNTO US A SON IS GIVEN by ALICE MEYNELL TO A WESTERN BOY by WALT WHITMAN BALLAD by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE WITHERED ROSE by PHILIP AYRES |