Night Fishing At Antibes

A beach back of bric brac,         wine goblet of sky ... .         the horizon beginning         somewhere between Nod &         nigh unto forever with         only the sigh of a Casuarina pine         or sea-grape to force a smile.         It was entering into twilight          - our minds were sailing ships,         mere vagaries upon the waves,         mine more a clippership         on the Frisco to China run.         Soire intime,         aprtif, digestif?         A bottle of rum         with Eleuthera for a name          - the prettiest coves         have steadfast winds         dark about portside.         Silvery light of stars,         the stars like black hansom cabs         with livried footmen before         shark-toothed clouds,         a shark-faced moon,         the sight of a shark breaking water,         lemon-white its gullet with the         Big Dipper stuck in a shark tooth.         Diamondhead or Copperback?         Carpetbaggers ... the moon's silver tea-set         giving birth to wonderment         flooding in affection         a Raouel Dufy lithograph,         some decrepit Neapolitan fisherman         zoning his epic life         to human proportions.