Within a dream, I wake to seethe night approach beyond the seas.The sun dips low in deeping westwhile storm clouds stir in steel night sky.They loose iron rain: lead tears attestand mourn the sun’s loss — ravens’ cry.As light-day fades, the night wears blackto toll the knell of what has passed.Another day consumed: The tracksof stars are hid behind cloud-mass.Far hilltops lose their last light-veil,surrendered to the growing gloom.No moon to light the silver sailsoutstretched upon my heart-spar's boom.My shipwreck. Foundered in the storm,I cling to cords of hemp. Dissolved,the polestar hides behind cloudforms —unmade, I make for east, forestalled.Without the stars, my compass gone,the east eludes my safe returnto bright uplands and cleansing dawnsaway from mirk-seas’ sucking churn.Off in the tempest, through the sleet,a frost-gilt angel walks the waves —he shimmers, flows, defies the deeps.Is he the lighthouse — am I saved?The swells rise high. I ride the creststhat spill me forth towards his stepsuntil I see his face at rest.I recognize — my heart now leapt.I see his frostbound face in awe —for his is mine: we touch and thaw.
