Blinding Florence

The man that walks down
By the ocean has the face
Of the dead and drunk
Who become each night
Giddy with rolling between
The sun-blind stars
And the beds of girls
Who, through sleeping,
Have become destitute of vision
And will to drink the whole ocean dry
Because they cannot find the beach-walking man
For the sea has made union with the sky.

(And there are no spells to bring him down
To where lips weaken in his wake and drown.)