-This rain! It’s a warning.
-Armageddon’s coming and I’ve got the Sahara,
in bags, at my door.
From beyond the darkness a lone voice crying,
saline sound, song of the sea.
In gentle stone, the dead lie listening
(lest we forget)
to the 5p martyrs’ whisper.
Upright in eternal attrition,
their passion flames.
Points of light mouth the darkness,
for they joust pure annihilation;
and the silence leans, communing, closer,
(let us proclaim the mystery of faith)
in tender embrace.
Now the winter tide is turning,
turn out again to the gull-strewn air.