Away!

the clouds sail in the night in part obliterate the moon already it shines low and weak oblivion's sweet in things that we praise not but desperation in our things of praise. the waters in my eyes they leap and light blinks dim. blithe the Moth of Destiny flies around the town our ancient self Valletta from balcony to balcony from roof to roof it flies resting sometimes. in the last night adown the muddy stream below the rows of buildings screamed: but in such silence that none woke to see the slime of Styx that passed by in the stream slow and engorging as a lava flow from red-hot Aetna. nocturnal without words but yet with masks of yellow-green around a cobwebbed table gather we in the centre spirits yield white light dark rest envelopes again the we is I, I, Poet-Seer!