Barefoot on granite wait I,
by Eric Ratcliffe
who threw a silver javelin
into the shimmering land of whispers,
and watched the wraiths divide
as though a chime had ended Hallowe'en.
Somewhere beyond the dawn a mermaid died;
the sea sent her comb to me,
with a wisp of her poor green hair
and a sigh for the savage who speared for fish
where white immortals moved.