Volume III Archive

Daniel Smith

Il Grotto Azzuro

after James Merrill

Afloat we peered into
That tufa carapace.
We slid like glycerine through
The wormhole in its face
To find oneiric blue.

We’d made it through intact.
But like a league of faithless
Jonahs, it seemed we lacked
Direction, more or less
Uncertain how to act.

Alas for characteristics!
Jason charted the perimeter
Twice. Sierra stuck
To solitude. Helen’s father,
Gus, made a friend--this mick--

As buoyant as a bludgeon.
Hollis tried to drown me
With verbal deprecation,
While someone held with Johnny
A more private conversation.

Then this waspish (stranger?)
Keeper (That’s Rick? No!) muttered
Some belated word on danger
That he might have uttered
Sooner in our adventure:

The maw that belches foam,
Pinning all inside
That azure catacomb
Of ever-rising tide…
Weeks passed, now I’m home.

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