I stepped to the sea for St Lawrence's tears
but no Perseid showers were falling;
not even in the fishpond, inspected close as I might;
no ripple. No showing. No movement. No calling.
It's not his time to weep.
The first quarter moon is not at fault.

So, great is this sign, with the waxing and my
illumined delight in this vault –
this precious, this brightly dark vault.
No tears show tonight, for the immanent light
of Selene overreaches my vault.

No singularity. Moody waxing of moon.
Wu wei. Such sweetness. No fault.

Don't allow to obscure Selena this darkling Ozymandias;
the speck is not the eye and very soon the speck will pass.
Retain the canopy in view, the clearing looking glass;
the sky tonight and future skies are better than those passed,
for when the beard is hoary then each moon exceeds the last.
Sail upon the nightsky, lashed to the mast.

Inhale and look, the world is all within your length and breadth,
yet the worldly plane's a hand that holds a solitary breath.
The ones who have no grief now bay to put to cruel death
their children's murderers, whose martyrdom's assured.
The devil's printer now delivers not an honest word.
This is the scene I set, the street I sweep before,
dear human being. This is no game. I come to talk of war.

We should never have named Time.
If we are to embrace and leave the ashes
and start the starward climb
we need to unname Time.
I'm here to de-clock rhyme.
I'm here to defrock Time.

And power beyond all power, the floating speck of blue.
Deep below the lily pads the whole is part in view.
Beneath the ripples, though the seas, and ever, through, and through:
Renew, and live, it calls, renew. Renew, renew, renew!