I.
It is a moonlit, windy night.
The moon has pushed out the Milky Way.
Clouds are hardly alive, and the grass leaping.
It is the hour of return.
II.
We want to go back, to return to the sea,
The sea of solitary corridors,
And halls of wild nights,
Explosions of grief,
Diving into the sea of death,
Like the stars of the wheeling Bear.
III.
What shall we find when we return?
Friends changed, houses moved,
Trees perhaps, with new leaves.