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.