Homer. Insomnia. The whitened sails are tight.
I’ve ceased to parse the list of vessels in the middle.
This lengthy brood that was decoyed and wheedled,
And gathered, and dissolved in boundless azure height.
A flight of cranes, you strive away from home.
Where do you steer, the mightiest of Achaeans?
What’s Ilion to you without smiling Helen?
The brows of the kings are blessed by salty foam.
Both Homer and the sea are moved by love alone.
Whom would I listen to? While Homer stays in silence,
The sea is eloquent in its ineffable violence,
It rushes to my couch with steady roar and groan.