Cresta

Was it worth the fire and pain, the beam bouncing in our room, smell of salt from last night’s grain, when now the kitchen grieves, your face a relic in alternate gloom, is it solace or wreck beside me, useless as a lighthouse in shade, malted sightings or warm perfume, you bring tea on a tray, you said I was scheming, on the road you’d wave a plume, to those you did not wish to see, love you gave to rolling trains, carpet salesmen, seamen consumed, beneath the song of elation, shadows dim corners of this dream, a disco ball glows your costume, dance the way you did on Crete, let the holy Ocean bloom.