This is an elegy to be sung
In our grotto’s quiet
In the first hours of morning
Before sun up,
When magical blue light
Rising up from the sand
Forty fathoms below
Seduces nudibranchs to dance,
To sing the old histories of Emperor Tiberius
Caligula, Barbarossa,
And of our own lost loves; for there can be
No veligers without love,
Without hermaphroditic unity of thought,
Without having sung our
Ancient choruses across three extinctions
For the return of former beauties
Pleading again to be left in peace.