And thanks, thank you all,
every stone, grain of sand
every car, crack, and bird
every sign,
on this borderzone,
which I know like the palm of my hand
like I know of a moon that is love
trembling nights, longing breeze
like I know every note of this land
every fracture of heart
every mend
Because we are the grey, the murky, the stained
for two years, we are these
peering hours —
And I’m sorry to call you so late,
Sir, but –
(you said, you’re the eyes,
sing the strange of the sea.
now a moon full of grief
asks grey questions of me)
For the dawn must have also stood mute
in the face of a colonel’s scold
and now it’s too late for this shivering moon, Sir,
Tell them all –