One more swell now motionless,
Realness from afar,
Drifting pointlessly,
Into a world of dubiety and falling stars.

The apprehension of letting go,
A fount of cognizance and angst,
With advents of dawn,
Seeing through the night, to no more be recast,

A future, said to reflect the age,
Alight, yet dimming anew,
Abaft the scud of clouds,
Burning itself out – the sun that never quite withdrew.