A great mouth, lean and grey,
Munching the sounds of day:
Last voices and the beat
Of weather and late feet.

Gently parted lips
Telling of high white ships
That sail the imaged seas
Of borrowed memories.

Inexorable lips shut tight
Over the tongue of the night...

Suddenly the sick sound
Of crickets on the ground,
Or the long shuddering bark.
Of a dog into the dark...

Insinuations of vain
Forgetfulness of pain,
Taunts of old moonlights
And other sound-stung nights.