break myself down, build myself up.
Tack aback and then flip-flop.
Foam at the chops.
Keelhaul and heave ho.

‘Sailor?'
‘What d'you want, Hook?'
‘Avanti. From lava to spumanti.
West becomes east.'

Other suns, other planets.
Mortals that know of no stopping, brave the high
wave, learn from keeling
survive an ordeal by fire with senses reeling

when rounding Fire Island.

© Translation: John Irons