Put off the deference that this sea compels
And from the scroll of cloud look proud and make
A marriage of my other look that tells
Why dynasties died down and for what sake.
The sand remarks you in the heedless air
That trembles in from islands that are you.
I take that trembling and make everywhere
The flinching wave, the slow surrounding blue.
And being of everywhere, I hold you in
With a transcending hand. I stare at it,
Looking to see an actual shore begin
On which this other one could lie and fit.
Then every history could happen here.
The sand a Golden, cloud a Silver Age
Would civilise one moment and with their
Enormous deaths enlarge us stage by stage.
Until as ordinary as events we’d lie
Needing no proclamation to be us.
Hide from the blandishing summer. Do not cry
Because its light fails to be obvious.