Where the Blue Begins by George Bradley

Where the Blue Begins
By George Bradley

In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins,   

We came to rest awhile and play

On sun-drenched islands known as Tremiti,   

Where the breeze blows fresh

And pine trees shiver and the salt sea   

Washes the likes of you and me,

In the southern Adriatic, in the wind-blown spray.   

In the bluest water, just where it begins,   

We came to play awhile, came to rest   

On rocky shores of barren coves,

As the swells arrived and water splashed

And reflected sunlight jumped and shimmered   

Among the cliffs and overhangs and grottoes,   

In the Adriatic, where that sort of thing begins.   

In the clear blue water that the swells bring by   

Out of the sunny Adriatic Sea,

We came to rest and play and bathe ourselves,   

As the pine trees swayed on the bluffs above   

And wind dispersed the salt sea spray,

In the sunny Adriatic, where a way of life begins.   

We came seeking an immersion, to find ourselves   

In waters clear enough to fathom

A bottom profoundly blue, to see it seemed   

All the way to Greece or any other site

That water washed as well or sun could so ignite,   

Came to see ourselves in a world of dreams,   

That words might furnish what place implies,   

That place might finish what a word begins.   

We came seeking clearest water, sunniest sky,   

Came, you and I, to see what would be seen   

Immersed in waters consummately blue,   

In sunlit swells that carried their dark secret,   

Tiny hosts known as meduse, whose fragile arms

Glanced and stung and burned all day

And raised the blush that blossomed on our skins,   

Aggravated by the sun and spray,

By our own attempts to hold each other,

As we swam out of ourselves and were swept away,   

In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins.

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