Bre

The sentinels engage
In their improbable conversations
Whilst below
The doomed seep into
The severe landscape
Of their dark stations.

Hayl

The lazy tributes
Of the false water
Sink into the mud that lies
And in the damp mist
The she gulls
Weave the tapestry of the fecund.

Mor

Sitting on her throne of pearls
She looks through the gate
Into
The halo’s of the sea
As the wind admires
The decadence of her imagination.

Golowjy

The seahouses of the soft light
Shall swim in the half life
Of the orange ghost sailors
As the tide boats
Offer the welcome
Of her embrace.