Poem By Peter Jones
Un-colour the sound of the darkened sea;
to leave it outlined in white.
Let the fire-blackened globe
continue to probe
into our salvation tonight.
The gale fires the sparks out over the void,
snatched by the waves, to be drowned.
But these visions of noise
are merely decoys
that trap all our lives in their sound.
And the stuttering candles survive in the storm;
poised on the edge of the surf.
Then we cast them adrift
as the ultimate gift:
shooting stars at the moment of birth.
So the dark moon sails invisibly on
in the poppyfield flowers of stars.
In the loom of the light,
we find something tonight:
the way to escape from their bars.
Never and ever this zodiac sea
is singing the song of the tide.
and we now see the mark
that it sings in the dark:
invisible clockwork described.