Odysseus is Gone

               And slendering to his burning rim
               Into the flat blue mist the sun
               Drops out and all our day is done.

I see it happening late –
            your face becomes elsewhere
        slendering like
    that sun

you’re sinking, sunken, gone
            ocean-heavy to your bed and
         we (the shadowing
    land?)

are soon bereft of you.
            On days like these we
        don’t get to wave
    goodbye –

your sudden night has come
            and we must let you lie till
        tides turn home
    again.

I’ll say my simple things
...