| OCR Text |
Show 4, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 4] And Baxter, If Once You Have Slept on an Island, indeed, Dory acknowledged, wasn't it for me that you pigeonholed the Father Merton poem The bottom of the sea has come And builded in my noiseless room The fishes' and the mermaids' home with the coral violins, lost orchestras, down the quarter-lights to the dim mirth. . . Off Ocean Reef the lights: red, white, red. . . hurricane warning. Toward what he took for morning, men in the clouds: the glint then the sound of the four-engine Navy Orions high up in the storm. In the morning twilight came the eye, and all the peacefulness of a coma. Carrysfort Reef Light. Elliot Key. Dark, empty Islandia. Dory riding the swells. Carried off in the ebb. And the movement of the water always east, northeast. I'm a mile off shore, he reasoned, an admiralty mile, a league. Drifting and curving away in a Mercator projection. Her soft dove mourning. From a balloon sailing out from the coast. He looked up to see the bright fires of-Row come looking for him- A fine effort, even if done only with clairvoyance. |
