The old boat
by Thomas Feeny
translation of Antonio Machado’s
El casco roído y verdoso
The old boat
The old boat’s shell,
greenish, eroded,
rests on the sand
The tattered sail
drowses in
the sun and sea
The ocean is boiling, singing
its ever–present song.
In the April sun
waves toss and laugh,
trailed by a froth
of milk and silver;
rolling waters ever giddy
beneath the azure sky
Broth of milk and foam,
the haughty brine
reveals a scene
leaning into
easy sleep,
with tide’s afternoon ebb
kissed by sunlight
Amid this dreaminess
a gull drifts off,
floating on the still air
As if asleep, gray wings
glide into oblivion, swallowed
by the sun’s white glow