Rodrigo

On October 12th, a sailor called Rodrigo saw the early morning moon shining on
white sands, and cried out. . . . The first man to sight land was supposed to get a
pension of 10,000 Maravedis for life, but Rodrigo never got it. Columbus claimed
he had seen a light the evening before. He got the reward.

What
ten thousand Maravedis even
once might might
meant
But I have lived
have lain among my gently swaying bunkmates
a mango on a richly laden tree
have prayed for water and been given water
I know more than he
about men and the length of the sea

Boweevil bread and

labour under the lash since
ten . . . eleven women less
frequent than hurricanes no
surprise death
comes so soon so
toothless in Madrid

Some nights it was possible to walk

back unbent
a mother’s son among the stars

Abiding stars whose

spaces pried my ribs apart I
call on you
Did I not see the moonlight lay its face
upon that breast of sand?

The begger drags his dead leg down the alley

I did not cry out

at once but paused
a moment
to count
what I would have
for that moment only
> a wife a house a grove
a son whose hand I’d guide along a row
daughters bringing figs
figs and wine

Is it the dead leg scrapes

so or my breath?

Thirty-three days at sea

Dawn saw them swimming out
to greet us from sand white
as an altar cloth
before the blood of
( here’s
home
death )of his
dis-
covery

soaked it

through