when in piles of tiny heaps
shapely mounds beneath our hands
seasoned stand on grainy shores
arduously may grasp the sands

wavy spikes of flapping sea
thrown to castles terror bound
are screaming yet so perfectly
tranquil as may silence sound

the grip of august imagery
while storms upon or crash its faith
dwells in floods of eddies lost
to empty fancies abdicate

laid in sea of solemn voices
do twilights flush in garb of light
narrated by swirling chords
shivering break apart tonight

albeit the ebbs of moments rife
drench may dreams of saline pain
shovel tides preserved in drops
slip through fingers, dissipate

venturous as lonesomeness
of scarlet night's insomnia
stubborn hunts the night's last star
in delusion finds panacea

the elixir of destiny
solace in carnal myths of dawn
and joys which heart incarcerates
in barren cages of a conch