Regal, resolute, golden sails unfurled in a glossy sky
I, sit at attention, watch the ships turn
Northward, then they drift into the sunrise,
a patterned carpet, blue and white,
and somewhere in the depths, a pearl
sparks morning light.
This harbour, busy as Boston, knows no commerce,
Just the people passing by,
A fleet crosses the Styx, an Augustinian
Armada of yellow leaves like dead newspaper clippings at sea.
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