Something else is sad, very sad. That is when certain huge ships go by with coral decorations and ebony masts, with great white and red flags unfurled, full of treasures, ships that do not even approach the harbor either because all of their cargo is forbidden or because the harbor is not deep enough to receive them. So they continue on their way. A favorable wind fills their silk sails, the sun burnishes the glory of their golden prows, and they sail out of sight calmly, majestically, distancing themselves forever from us and our cramped harbor. – C.P Cavafy, The Ships *** i dont believe in rain he looks coyly across the room i don’t believe in bugs his eyes flutter, his skin is soft, thin, he has a necklace on that decorates his chest and hangs down towards the blades of grass - a memory -in circles his fingers circulate the grass, little tornados of wind passing by, my skin is dimpled & kind, wine flows down from the mountain, where we , kids, put our hands into it, cupped, with gold bracelets, we drink it, grtting drunk with each other and laughing, red wine in our hands, where does the wine flow white, like ethereal honey from the queen we giggle, our teeth our stained - a memory! - everything things to be bah now, everything isnt like that place that i rememorize, on the board of chalk beaten white boards and grey beards there are ships sailing out to see, in each a memory preserved, something whisping in a bottle alas, i wonder, those dreams in bottle that wash up by the bay, were they only dropped treasures from a ship sailing to the vortex at the border of the worlds?