Saturday, May 4, 2013


And indeed I shall anchor, one day—some summer morning
 of sunflowers and bougainvillaea and arid wind—
and smoking a black cigar, one hand on the mast,
 turn, and unlade my eyes of all their cargo;
and the parrot will speed from my shoulder, and white yachts glide
welcoming out from the shore on the turquoise tide.
And when they ask me where I have been, I shall say 
I do not remember.
And when they ask me what I have seen, I shall say 
I remember nothing.
And if they should ever tempt me to speak again, 
I shall smile, and refrain.
Randolph Stow, 1969