In the cosmic quiet of
A solitary dream,
I swam through the stars
Navigating upstream.

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door.

Through the rain stained glass,
With a sickly purple hue,
I can see early marsh orchid,
And it makes me think of you.

The gardener's son
Is looking at it too,
His sickly grey suit
Makes me think of you.

I was not born a bog child,
I was only passing through,
The Irish Lady's Tresses
Made me think of you.

On alabaster ear lobes
Were two white pearls,
And to the sweet Marie Celeste,
Would sing the joys of the world.

She was born in June.  
Loved to dance.

It's quite tragic, really,
That she was on that ship,
The one called the Marie Celeste.

A mystery never resolved, you see.
The pearls whispered the joys of the world,
But they never whispered the joys of the sea.

Pearls do not lie, but sing
On the lobes of an odd thing,
White pearls on white lobes,

Marie Celeste would only wear white robes.

The summer months were not enjoyable,
Marie Celeste hated the heat.
She was always the one who asked the questions,
And the one who died at sea.

If by chance, when under water,
You find a pair of dusty pearls,
Will they still sing, I wonder,
The joys of the whole wide world?