178

Three brant broke from
The edge of the projection.
Waves were breaking over
It that lit white in the
Dim light of the sound.
Brant rode lazily in the
Nearest swell, black and
Their bodies barely there
As it grew down to night.
The three prodigies went
Across the water in a
Triform and their white
Tails were like flares in
Silent recession, as if
They had been fired out
From some inordinate place
Back beyond their origin,
Only to fade like a dream.
It was not wholly dark.
The sunlight was present
But diffuse in all it held.
There was a broken bank of
Cloud, dark, full of rain,
Falling far out in the
Sound, like an old depiction
Of the dismantled Godhead.