I am by the sea, I am by the red
Of a sunset in vain
By the port of a city
Anchored in smoke and rain
Men are unshaved, and women dew-pearled
They do not hug, they do rarely promise
For their feet hurt from the slow life
Of waiting for the next ship, and for the next
farewell
Women breathe low and they breathe soft
Yet they smell of anchovies as they ask for beer
Past the sunset in waters warm and old
Now glittering in a cup, with no surprises and little
fear
The immortal dead
Give sailors the privacy
Of a glorious secret
February 16, 2014
© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014
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