S. N. AFRIAT on the River Non Il quadrifoglio

Purpose
O
n the long shore,
Where the wide ocean rushes
On warmed sands,
There linger traces:
—how creatures came from the formless depths
And, enthralled by a distant music,
Entered a new sea.
They forgot their
Fish-like character,
Swimming though they were
In a sea of questions.
They contained themselves
In dreams which they called purpose,
As in strong ships
Afloat in darkness,
Riding filament currents of the boundless flux
—for a moment
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