North lay the Sea.
And for me
  To think of something
Other than old bone
Would be a thought (not quite my own)
  As that dumb thing
Lingers and leans at the back of my mind
Begging for attention from all humankind.

Yet still, it remains.
And dances cheerfully,
Wearing a face  (not quite its own)
And bearing a tone
Of uncertainty.

Lips of silver don sarcastic clothes
  With scarcely audible remarks
    Shaking the Sea itself, and
North it remains through it all.