(Unintended interpretations #)
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.p.n.

(unintended interpretations #)
shattered brine, dazzling leap of the ocean.
Merged, you and I, my love,
seal the silence
while the sea destroys its continual forms,
collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness.

p.n

(unintended interpretations #)
And my soul, unguarded,
would soar on widespread wings,
to live in a night's magical sphere
More profoundly, more variously.

h.h

(Unintended interpretations #)
Resemble nothing that is ours
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.

(Unintended interpretations #)
I sit in the dark. And it would be hard to figure out
which is worse; the dark inside, or the darkness out.
That talk like this reaps no reward bewilders
no one--no one's legs rest on my sholders.
I sit by the window in the dark. Like an express,
the waves behind the wavelike curtain crash.
(j.b)