Her harbor open like a beautifully-lipped mouth,
Her harbor open as if to drink the ocean.

Her harbor caked with castaways, temples behind her brow;
Her capital sinfully furrowed.

The flawless zebras and literate gazelles that sprung
through ten foot grasses.

I put on my shoes of levity and wandered aimlessly
over the domes.

In the perfect, undressable gardens, where invisible fruit
grew on shadows ...

On afternoons that bit off more than they could chew,
where an Adonis begins to lay down on the soft rocks ...

On afternoons in which the soul blows through canyons
and out to sea--the soul sliced by gulls and girls.

Living forever in one's sins, a nagging nostalgia for birth

Lost inside a caravan of deserts. My canteen.
Its last few drops of ambition.

From where I stand on the mountain, an orchard, a valley of Buddhas,
then nothing.

Greece finally attaching itself to my gaze. Horizons jettison.
Warm nights with moons to spare.

In Atlantis, philosophers quilted and gossiped.

Merman: "I caught a tremendous fish." Mermaid bride blushing.

Seraphim appeared, blinding my eyes with their jewelry and teeth.

Drowsy wickedness and chocolate poverty in the streets of Atlantis.

By faith, we could be translated. There is no word for faith in
the tongue of Atlantis. There are twenty words for lust.

The day she sank, people took dangerous-looking orange capsules,
then forgot anything ever happened.

(c)2000 Matthew L. Bowen