Women whom the sun lays bare,

Offended by the café's seaward stare,


Complicit in it my own sight

(Blinded by the island's see-through light),


A world outraged to look at me

Mapping what in turn I see,


Horizons polarized by surf, by spume,

By the sirens that such looks exhume,


Forgive my doltish conjugation

Of your anabasis


With, no matter how mistaken,

My myopic glasses.