There is this Adriatic in me

dividing Greece from Rome

is only part of it –

narrow reach of ocean

somewhere in me,

a dozen Slavic languages

I’ll never understand

but a glorious busy

wilderness over there

and on the side of speech

I sort of know, palaces

and Paradiso open on the desk,

Yes to all that, but there is

or must be something else,

something that happened

in me when I first stood

on the shore and looked

out from Venice to its sea.

What happened to me

must still be happening,

ocean contained?

All languages implied?

Meaningful horizons

On both sides? All this,

yes, and the water at my feet.

Robert Kelly’s most recent books are The Cup, a long narrative poem, and a collection called Linden Word. Forthcoming will be a series of new experimental poems called Metalogues and an even more experimental volume called The Symphonies.