His life, his boat, his girl. Today
The coracle dips and bows, carousels
And his ant of a girl steps in.
Caitlin.
The lights aren't lit in Towy. The land lilts
When the boat bounces. Her laughter silts
As the wind blows, becomes boy
Grows eyes, a mouth which spits flowers.
Showers
Of gold fall on the fold of her neck.
Transfiguration on the deck.
The bay is boiling, the nativity now
Venus is shivering in her Botticellian cell.
Well.
The sea sucks and slaps at the side of the shell,
Its tongue twisted by the look of the belle
Brought to birth in the bay. Caitlin, come back
he cries. And rushes to cover her up.
No luck:
His own gender twists,
Art History assists
He's the one on the right with the silks.
![Mr. Green :mrgreen:](./images/smilies/icon_mrgreen.gif)