I dreamed there was a flower called “Sea’s fool”
That bloomed wild, dawdling on the shore, unkempt,
Wind-tousled. Glamored by the name, I dreamt
The pink tinge of a second-water jewel.
With trefoil leaves, in clover-globes, it grew
Along some rocky fringe of coast I knew,
In pockets of sand along a tidal pool.
Dreaming, I didn’t wonder what it meant,
But waking, there was no such thing: “Sea’s fool”
Was something I had dreamed up. To invent
A thing only to lose it—I could see
The plant clear as its name, could almost feel
The heart-shaped leaves’ rough cat-tongue texture, real
As the fool’s grief dreaming of the seizeful sea.

A Message from the Editors

Our past successes are owed to our greatest ambassadors: our readers. Our future rests on your support, as The New Criterion Editor Roger Kimball explains. Will you help us continue to bring our incisive review of the arts and culture to the next generation of readers?

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 36 Number 10, on page 29
Copyright © 2017 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
newcriterion.com/issues/2018/6/seas-fool-9863