FOR THE MEMORY OF POUND


Sitting on the Dogana steps or
even in imagination at Solva's little harbour
the poet is lost, cursed, as
the sea enters & the light
trapped within its surface.
He is taken up &
as an old man knows the hopelessness
of utterance though he is wedded to it
a sacrifice, a silence, a last
glint over the wreckage. Dear God
this is that one effort I am uncertain of:
that at the end, when here too
the sun breaks I will go under
or lose all, even silence.