Notes About The Poem
A thallosophile is one who loves the sea. Pronounced “ta-lass-o-file.”
sage (archaic) - grave
Thallosophile
“over the waters blue the night winds sigh,
the breakers roar…”
—Lord Byron
Thallosophile, my lass, listen to me.
Emergent, I do wade in your blue depths,
where subfluvial eyes view your splendour
and I’m jealous, as glow of moon directs.
Northeasterly, your locks of golden sand.
The land breeze blows in mystic sweeps, as I
let go my strength, my will; succumb to you.
In sighs, I’m trapped…your bod’, my map and more.
Entwined with breaker’s score, dear lass, hear me.
Amidst its deafening, your back to me.
My tongue will surge, give a reprise, and shock.
The ghostly moon, a shadow cast, halts me.
The turquoise gown, its ebb, its undertow.
You had me at “hello.” No need to drown.
You begged me, follow you, into your sage.
The wind, pleased by perseverance, ghosts me.
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