Smear out the last star. <br />No lights from the islands <br />Or hills. In the great square <br />The prolonged vowel of silence <br />Makes itself plainly heard <br />Round the ghost of a headland <br />Clouds, leaves, shreds of bird <br />Eddy, hindering the wind. <br /> <br />No vigils left to keep. <br />No enemies left to slaughter. <br />The rough roofs of the slopes, <br />Loosely thatched with splayed water, <br />Only shelter microliths and fossils. <br />Unwatched, the rainbows build <br />On the architraves of hills. <br />No wounds left to be healed. <br /> <br />Nobody left to be beautiful. <br />No polyp admiral to sip <br />Blood and whiskey from a skull <br />While fingering his warships. <br />Terrible relics, by tiderace <br />Untouched, the stromalites breathe. <br />Bubbles plop on the surface, <br />Disturbing the balance of death. <br /> <br />No sound would be heard if <br />So much silence was not heard. <br />Clouds scuff like sheep on the cliff. <br />The echoes of stones are restored. <br />No longer any foreshore <br />Or any abyss, this <br />World only held together <br />By its variety of absences.<br /><br />Dom Moraes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/absences-3/
