In the long and lovely lay-awake of summer,
when the distance of the sea is laid to rest,
when miles are a handful of stars away,
and the far bird’s cry leaves an echo in the stillness of the west,
When the vast divided elements of heaven,
have come malingering in the dark,
then the drifting ghost of a sail slips by,
and a haunting song cuts short in the pillows of the ark.
Now the hills beside the shore come down,
to lean into the ripeness of the ready sea,
to teach the endless liquid caverns
with the granite root of cone, dark husk, and tree.
In all such lovely moan and silence,
a universe with time itself denied,
where breath whose breathing joy is sealed,
brings stars conjoined upon the catholic tide.
Thus in our days’ down-drifting toward death,
forget for now the pain of what comes after,
let green love throw its sudden bush of sparks,
let night catch forth its kindle time of laughter.