Smear out the last star. br No lights from the islands br Or hills. In the great square br The prolonged vowel of silence br Makes itself plainly heard br Round the ghost of a headland br Clouds, leaves, shreds of bird br Eddy, hindering the wind. br br No vigils left to keep. br No enemies left to slaughter. br The rough roofs of the slopes, br Loosely thatched with splayed water, br Only shelter microliths and fossils. br Unwatched, the rainbows build br On the architraves of hills. br No wounds left to be healed. br br Nobody left to be beautiful. br No polyp admiral to sip br Blood and whiskey from a skull br While fingering his warships. br Terrible relics, by tiderace br Untouched, the stromalites breathe. br Bubbles plop on the surface, br Disturbing the balance of death. br br No sound would be heard if br So much silence was not heard. br Clouds scuff like sheep on the cliff. br The echoes of stones are restored. br No longer any foreshore br Or any abyss, this br World only held together br By its variety of absences.