Where once the waters of your
Spun to my screws, your dry ghost blows,
The dead turns up its eye;
Where once the mermen through your
Pushed up their hair, the dry wind
Through salt and root and roe.
Where once your green knots sank their
Into the tided cord, there
The green unraveller,
His scissors oiled, his knife hung
To cut the channels at their
And lay the wet fruits low.
Invisible, your clocking
Break on the lovebeds of the weeds;
The weed of love's left dry;
There round about your stones the
Of children go who, from their voids,
Cry to the dolphined sea.
Dry as a tomb, your coloured
Shall not be latched while magic
Sage on the earth and sky;
There shall be corals in your
There shall be serpents in your tides,
Till all our sea-faiths die.
