night samphire (of violet denial)

five bells crash soft as the night's loft weeps
fog in the sea-troughs' lilt―tossed in the lorn byres

a tender opening haze of the hillocks creeps
quiet on flanks in the misted faery samphires

―bellowed as all grey bells fingers feast slow reaps
and all points paling—ghost as green lune-spires

mount the dead thrift headland's loom, nor sleeps
in gloom below—Hist! the flesh slow fires—

rears the riven ghost moon—her cool sprite peeps
whites of night under covers thrust in slow gyres

she comes with seaweed skims in skirted deeps
of rills and seeps before tides glist the mires'

brims in dawn frets and furrowed neaps
full for follow and all fusted elvet pyres

there at wind's flood we last leaps
once more the gust—till night expires
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