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.