By nightfall did we reach,
And so begin our destination.
As though I would, at least, assume it was a stable course.
Though unsteady was the travel.
Words are but a shallow well,
With strength to delve within their source
Of power, in the heart and tongue, and long continuations.
Removing logic from the mind,
Slipping sand dunes, ice cold sundown,
Windblown waves and soft-streaked bay.
I liked when you were better off and
Loving tiptoe tempest tales,
Let us break our bread with travelers,
And feast on ashen ruin in the face of stolen graves.
To them a nighttime stroll is nothing more than simple footsteps,
A candle in the cradle of the sea.
Tilted over sky and earth, as but a passing,
Till in grace and in an instant,
You have overthrown the river, as
A hiding place and refuge, for the lost.