And again the tiresome pall
That jumped you going to some setting

You've seen the rest played out
In the reflection in the water before you

Dust breaks in the constant now
Handles this like a faded palimpsest

She asked you goodnight
And told you how you were

A tragic kind of effort at being holy
Was the shaking cross in their hands

Rabid storm of which will never cease
You on your humble jetty making sense of life

You've asked the setting shaking dust
Handles effort like a rabid storm in their hands.

o.wilks