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From The Last Island: To Lady Elisabeth Verreet

 Oval mirror of the sea,
age-warped isle waved and cloudy,
each angle crystalline and salty.
my lens into reality.
Point of space just visible, focus of beams ineffable, swith of signals transmissible, receiver of voices inaudible At time's edge.
No need have I to shout in fear about this death of mine.
And any creature here is glad to offer you a glass of wine.

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