(Hammill)
Searching for diamonds in a sulphur mine,
leaning on props that are rotten,
hoping for anything, looking for a sign
that I am not forgotten.
Lost in a labyrinth of future mystery,
tracing my steps, all mistaken,
trusting to everything, praying it can be
that I am not forsaken.
I wait by the door, wondering
when you will come and keep me warm.
I pray for the end of the night,
hoping the light will still the storm
which presently betrays me;
helpless sea-monster stranded on the shore,
marooned in an ecstasy of waiting,
I yearn, although knowing that I shall dive no
more
in the tide already racing.
My lungs burst to cry:
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