Our forbears captured seawater in their veins

By passion’s fire, their beating blood ran red,

The light of stars served beacons for their brains

While unto cruel fate they soon were wed;

Yet dance they did, glad horas into night

To cast dear hopes and dreams upon cold stone

Not wary that pure faith here courted blight,

Unknowing they together—walked alone.

Oh Mother Earth your tender wickedness

That metes from breast of rock, rain, wind and sun

To leave the brackish taste of fickleness

And make us wonder why we e’re were born.

Thus though we crave sweet water, carry brine…

And tears taste salt, though lips be wet with wine.