This daughterless night is deepening. br The tinkle of laughter awaits br and unlistened-to interruptions br for someone who is always thinking. br br This daughterless night is darkening. br The bowl of fruit br suffers no wristwatches br but the clock is always ticking. br br Below the samphire br tides wash idly at the feet br of the pale, impassive cliff br of this night without daughters. br br Even planets envy the clockwork br of the daughters who lurch and ricochet br in a world of messages br and surprises. br br The notes of rain descend br the slope of this daughterless night, br a hammering of tin nails br in the seasonal pattern-shift. br br People everywhere are awakening br to the morbidity of the world br and the starkness of its rules. br Dawn gnaws at the feet of daughters.