Europa.

Europa is escaping me.
Europa is escaping on the back of a bull.
And I have no new friend
to throw my ball to,
no new friend to play hopscotch and footsie
                                                         with,
no new friend of an equal mind.
I am left all alone on the stony beach
with Europa`s towel in my hands.


I skip and cry at the edge of the water,
skip and cry on the lonely shore.
The cruel sea does not reflect my sorrow
like the dark mirrors that are the eyes of
                                                      Europa,
the dark eyes reflecting all things.
The cruel sea is a thunderous grave
across which Europa has tearfully travelled
on the back of the bull that swims like a fish.


And I am cut off forever from her laughter.
Cut off forever from her constant kisses.
The delicate grace of her ensemble dances.
The come hither glitter deep in her eyes.
And I can do nothing now but sit and watch
the evening slowly darken the shore.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
8th. May 2017.