The year weighs anchor Alone. Others there have been, but No rigging-spun bones Line the shallow berth Where day fell. All ships have sailed. There are whispers in the harbour; The tongueless voices swear: “Here, once, seaworthy craft were Moored and plied their permanence in The sun,” and their daylight dulled To rumour, Spat through igneous air.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Thoughtfox to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.