Meeting Benches World art in all forms
MAP OF THE NEW WORLD: ARCHIPELAGOES
At the end of this sentence, rain will begin. At the rain’s edge, a sail. Slowly the sail will lose sight of islands. Into a mist will go the belief in harbors of an entire race. The ten-years war is finished. Helen’s hair, a gray cloud. Troy, a white ashpit by the drizzling sea. The drizzle tightens like the strings of a harp. A man with clouded eyes picks up the rain and plucks the first line of the Odyssey.
(Derek Walcott)
http://www.amazon.com/The-Poetry-Derek-Walcott-1948-2013/dp/0374125619
