the boy most dearly loved by folly
was taken by a jealous sea,
reclaimed in fact for singing,
while out of doors
leaving me behind with time to think
by this fireplace, silent
and cautious by halves

at my doorway,
a grey mouse fidgeted, curious
pointing ‘this way’
with some calculation
and its bitter giggle denounced me
tho nervous, watchful
waiting for the imminent flood
nimble with his tail, when
he began to dance a silent game
I thought this all rather strange
(there was nothing that I could hear nor see)

this thing to be recovered
from the trembling waters
whatever it is, I will find it
as some strange blaze has come
for my gutted heart,
baking in its own ashes

come the wanton twilight
you can hear that the lotus flowers,
impatient,
cannot not keep time
and eventually with no melody,
will forget all about me
their muddy pink petals,
taste bitter

what greater tenderness
does the sea remember?
what song?
barefoot, near salty shores
fast-escaped from this prison called love,
have I ever been fairly compensated?
the sky holds no trace of his melody
the notes have not lingered in the airs,
hanging beyond my reach,
however tuneful they had once been

my giggling mouse
suggests that the Queen
had given me all the facts,
none of which can I remember
(what queen? what facts?)
somehow I’m wanting more,
nevertheless,
I have no loose ends