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Thales the Milesian
J. A. Stover

I have stood on the gulf of Lade
Where Maeander the River pours
Its sweet water into the dark sea.
I have seen the island in the bay
Rise from the salt depths, bequeathing
Black earth to the hungry plow of man.
I have smelt the heat of water in the air,
And standing on the dry land,
I have felt the heave and sway
Of a storm-tossed earth.

I burnt a double-sacrifice
In the temple of the sun-
I listened for the voice of God
And heard the groan of the sea.
I heard men scream in the storm,
Sliding back and forth
On the sleek deck of the black ship.
I saw the bloated corpses
In the sand, their white eyes
Staring through water at water.
I know the emptiness of a quiet sea
In the morning light, rosy fingers
Cast across its dark surface.

Now I pour a double measure
For what I do not understand:
A double measure of sweet oil
And purple wine into the dark sea.
I seek to know but not to comprehend:
The sea is one, the ship is one
And man is one, and all is water,
Our lives each a shimmering drop
Absorbed in an ineffable ocean.
And what I have wished to be
I am not-what I have wished to know
I know not. I surrender and grieve
For what is not and yet might be.
I stare into the white eyes in the bay:
And I, I Thales the Milesian
Commend my body to the sea.