From the Fishouse

Sorrento, your sun is light yellow lemonskin, your sky
Purling out like a farther surf on which I ride away
From that secret in a German town. I left behind
A dragon of enigma to fester there without me, I left
A small god ticking like a time bomb: a tiny jade statue suspended
By magnets in the vulva of a prehistoric temple. Here
In the oyster of your mornings I wake as lead.
Once I was a knight
Who rode out in search of grail, now I am just a husk
Of armor with the grey squid of memory inside—I have forgotten
Land and tongue, I have forgotten everyone. Only I see
An emblem, some kind of lion arrant on ash-argent ground
A creature I greeted once in a dream: yes, at the crossroads of the hallowed grove
He kissed me—and must have slipped this curse between my lips.