For the lives of the sons of daughters

                            by John Fuller

Elsewhere

in the Golfe de Lava

The sea is as sharp as diamonds.

The sun has a flat in the Oc.

Its tread has burned up the horizon.

The clouds are pillars of rock.

The sky's the grey-orange of rosé

That signals the end of the day

When Christian, Raymond and José

Went down to the pebbles to play.

And now the sunset's a cauldron

Of grief for the passing of years,

For our lives as thoughtless children

For the thoughts that turn to tears.

For the light on the glittering waters,

For the looks that turn away,

For the lives of the sons of daughters

And for the abandoned bay.

No one will water the roses.

The hedge grows over the gate.

The sun turns over and dozes.

And one more day is too late.

The breeze from the bay grows chilly

And worries the petals to rags,

For night has darkened the lily

And closed up our dreams in her flags.

No step on the path by the curtain

Will lift up the eyes from their book

For now only one things is certain:

There will never be eyes to look

Now the moon delivers its lecture

On light to a single star

And no one is left to conjecture

Wherever it is that we are.

The shutters are closed in the villa

And latched with a swivelling key

That curls like a rusting cedilla

And softens the sound of the sea

The Times Literary Supplement, May 22, 2015.