There is a harbour where an old sea-god sometimes surfaces

 

two cliffs keep out the wind you need no anchor
the water in fascinated horror holds your boat
at the far end of a thin-leaved olive casts a kind of evening over a cave
which is water’s house where it leads its double life
there are four stone bowls and four stone jars
and the bees of their own accord leave honey there
salt-shapes hang from the roof like giant looms
where the tide weaves leathery sea-nets
be amazed by that colour it is the mind’s inmost madness
but the sea itself has no character just this horrible thirst
goes on creeping over the stones and shrinking away