The mark of the moon's face descending
On a plate of steel bar
Sent a shiver down my spine on the day
Of the new decline.
Sheets of water through the night cascading,
Lit by lights of green and golden glints
That yield to red of fiery brightness
At Luan's behest.
A night of magic
That marked the end of Yoag's sojourn in the west.
Then took they them up,
And left that haunt of men already dead.

*Torremolinos, 1958