After Li Po


Last night we sang in the smokey garden
Until the sky's bowl was empty and gone. Alas, morning

Comes too soon for foolish poets! Eyes sore
and red as last night's moon, heads still roaring at the sea

Quattrain


Until wine spills over the silver rim of sky's bowl
Until our eyes are red as night's foolish ink

Until the wind's music will have no more of song,
As we fight to keep our sea legs, until Polaris dances


- Carlos Reyes