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
