The sun rises to find some of his realm gone.
Would a southern wind help him melt the clouds?
Gales rush from contentious latitudes
But collapse off shore of battle fatigue.
With dying winds, clouds regroup,
Bounce and settle down again, hiding all.
Momentum carries them westward to pile up thicker still.
This world vanishes quietly in downy silver.
Under grey cover, silence erases life:
No squeals of delight or trills of larks;
No plops of rainfall,
Splashing waves or tumbles of pebbles…
Where is she, wonders the sun,
My clear and transparent sea
Who dances in moonlight but quivers
In the heat and gentle breezes?
The Med is his. She reflects his fire,
The beauty of his light, the magic of color,
The splendor of evanescence…
But today, she is gone.
He tries to poke holes in the cover to no avail.
He can’t see beyond thick grey flannel…
She is just a drop on the blue planet,
He thinks, what does it matter?
Then he remembers vast, beautiful,
Deep, and perfect seas of long ago
When the earth was young…
Gone now and buried so far in her darkness
That even time has forgotten them.
But the long ache of devastation lingers…
And then he remembers the delight of discovery
The mirror held up in the twinkle of a smile,
The seduction of the bluest of waters
That sang and lulled Ulysses to sleep…
He remembers storms and upheavals of change…
He wonders will she be the same
When she comes out of hiding?