Map of the New World

"At the end of this sentence, rain will begin.
At the rain's edge, a sail. 

Slowly the sail will lose sight of islands;
into a mist will go the belief in harbours
of an entire race. 

The ten-years war is finished.
Helen's hair, a grey cloud.
Troy, a white ashpit
by the drizzling sea. 

The drizzle tightens like the strings of a harp.
A man with clouded eyes picks up the rain
and plucks the first line of the Odyssey."