a country beginning to open its spaces
a silence being broken by voices
over the first wrecked cliffs
darknesses moving in darkness
the sea keeps moving up. The sea
comes with a thin razor of water
it takes what it gives
the salt white birds fly over it
the sea wipes off the footprints of gulls
this country seems grass under the feet
its sounds are not shaken like trees
its shapes do not move like slow horses
no metal rings through this silence
in half-light the coasts lift themselves
a sea beats on them, is wild to come in
the cold of the wind is not from the sea
not absence of sun makes this darkness
in the dry river-bed I have seen
even the granite rippled by water
the rocks lie without ease on each other
hills scoured by rainfall wait for the sea
the sea holds a knife to the land, breaks
out the first stone shells. The sea
takes the land away, moans, lifting small
white flags in this impossible darkness