ARGOSY

c 2007 Tristan Winter

Into the sun they went and wasted.

One chewed his head in wonder;

One so vain he turned to gold.

One was lost to delirious sands;

Others, reaching, finished by famine.

Brittle sticks of memory.

Yet now through the forest I, alone,

Unhomed, unbowed, ravaged, rent,

Approach the shuddering molten bank.

A being of shells, I turn to form

Of luminous wings, a boat to sail

Your eyes as long as rivers.