Times A Skipping Stone On Choppy Waters

Times a skipping stone on choppy waters Each century is one skip from descending Into damp darker, quieter quarters With not one further chance of suspending The dance, the ripple of light that flashes Reckless as a house martin beneath eaves Big as upturn waves with biting gnashes Each interval a-suckled-breast that cleaves To hold on to its infant fate cries out Foams at the mouth, plummet an endless sleep, Bedding down on a pillow that without A Father's just hand would be a slagheap Without whose kiss, white gambolling horses Would, have meant little in their due courses.