De profundis (final)

[ginaparaoan]

It was a difficult read for me. I read it five to ten times, but still groping for your meaning. I got the feeling of deep aloneness and inner imbalance. But admirable was the attempt to be strong even in the end he is defeated by depression.

The metaphor of Tuscan noon and Maltese sun strikes me, but not really too sure what they mean to you.

Darling boy, whose lips are like summer
Sangiovese, the Tuscan noon
in your wind swept hair, 
go trippingly. Where  I go
the cranes are reeling
blown by winds from the frozen depths.

I shall try to think of a Maltese sun
light up the sea, on a boat some boys.
Red, malachite, and gold the day.
Their heads are haloed. Golden hay
their wind swept locks, they go trippingly
where you go, and I sink deep
into the depths.