Ashy skies and foamy shoals,
coastlines dressed in shifting furs,
which rise and fall like salty hems
that gather lapping at your toes.
Like the yield of distant stars,
shedding luminary wills,
all that washes from these seas
speaks for erstwhile wetted fires.
Mingled with the swallowing sands,
wave-fuls of the stellar debris,
so unlike the rising sun
whose rays allude to living hands.