Landing At Ithaca

A tall ship bound for Ithaca
Wrapped with silver sails
Bound with turquoise tortoise shells
And the hide of suckling whales

A dream was dreamed of ever
Between the sunset and the dawn
Thrown like gold on the waters
Before the clear cold moon had gone

One asked for words of stardust
For the spinning of yesterday’s lore
One for the relished taste of now
And the keel scrapped on the shore

One held Ithaca hard in his hands
And twisted to squeeze out the juice
Then fashioned the empty carcass
Round his neck in a tightening noose

If never was always, then ever was lost
In a shatter of showering spray
Perhaps one woke to discover
That the tall ship had sailed away

And now one knows each alleyway
The twist of each dirt packed street
And there is nothing left of Ithaca
That is wet or soft or sweet

Stand on the sand and squint out to sea
Where the sweet wind blows unfailing
For one has never come to shore
And the questing ship’s still sailing

©Edwina Peterson Cross
(Based on the poem 'Ithaka' by C P Cavafy)