[to Santosh, Lady SeaStar, my friend, who talked this over with me]
"By the waters of Leman I sat down . . ."
T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land
I think a walk beside a lake can be
a provenance of many inspirations.
Despite having the best accomodations,
the villa, sometimes I just have to flee
outside, and far from indoor luxury.
Lord Byron, always skeptical, may scoff
at my late dream as subject for a short
tale. But, today, I can, truly, report
that I have thought of something now to write---
however brief, its worth however slight.
Sand on this shore has been ground very fine;
warmed in the sun, and such a sparkling white
color. This afternoon is wholly mine:
at last, these English shoes, so tight, come off . . .