On summer moors the sea waves splash for years
the shadows draw upon the walls festoons
unspoken verse, conceived on silent piers,
the advent of our loneliness attunes.
The tenth of June remained our only feast
and minds' ascent to skyward reign,
blooms' multitude of fragrances released,
an Indian thistle on the field and rain.
Remember me when stars lone shine and laugh,
hands held on summer's tenth ethereal call,
we celebrate this night on lonely wharf
and acanthine of solitude's dance hall.
...On every tenth of June my eyes embrace,
above the summer moors, your lines of face.