Night of an Invasion (July 10, 1943)

On the sky that goes down into the Mediterranean
cold stars set themselves against the blood - - and wine-warm ocean
just as in Arab villages dogs bark
against the quiet, deserved by ages
of lovers clattering stones, fatigued by incontinence,
of fighting raiders drawing one full and panic breath,
of ghosts thought they were left to their own devices.
It's cold in warm counties now; the stars that flick an unexpected
                                                           waker's eye
are caught in unfriendly glory.  At this hour a glorious ancient
                                                          poet, drunken, would turn
                                                                  savage
and Alcibiades reeling home from wisdom's banquet would behead images.
The sea, around small boats full of contraband,
invisibly lies closer to gunwales and to men's mouths
before there may be speech: warning, or cry of attack at the shore
                                                                  guardians.
The sky, with its shape-charted stars (gods, animals)
is like the ancient sea -- it may overlie us, we may never get above
                                                                  its surface;
but the eternal, waiting water is still itself:
our heads knowing legend either way
may not know it up or down.

                                                                                    may 25, 1948