change of pace?

All night I dreamt
I fished the inlets of Corfu. Heart in my throat
I slit a gasping bass, threw
its shorn fins back. Drank ouzo neat
and trilled tis tavlas through my hair.
What a thing! To drink with mes
semblables, hollow a roast potato,
lever a spoonful of caviar into the white gut
and hold it, salty, mealy, on my tongue,
and the clear spirit, burning. I recalled
even in my dream how you rent the cod’s breast
with your tongue, perspired,
kicked out your heels, sang
under the baritone of taxis.
You never lifted your voice, even
to question me, even whetted
with arak rayan
in the bowels of the Spianada.
I wanted to drink with you until an aureole of light
slunk round the city, icy and new,
to half-carry you,
put almond cakes
to your open lips,
while the sun wheeled,
a slim, tender disc,
over the old fortress.