Sleep
The ring and rim
Of tidal sleep
Will slip and creep
Along my limbs
And I shall watch,
But never catch
The final change,
The water-plunge,
And through what caves
Beneath what waves
I then shall go
I shall not know,
For I shall come
From that lost land
Half-blind, half-dumb,
With, in my hand,
A fish’s head,
A shell, a shred
Of seaweed and
Some grains of sand.
— A. S. J. Tessimond
