A Weathered Glass
...dedicated to Dylan Thomas
A weathered glass in harbour deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me,
a steep, sequestered grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then it's gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans the tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair,
consigned to quiver restlessly.
Ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
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