The waters sigh, the slow wave swells its slope
and smites the cloven rock with liquid clap.
White-streaked bubble-blue rests on blue.
Time is.
In the blur of sea and sky
or the unnumbered sand below,
in the flying spray, or air and light,
nothing marks that for a time of no time
being of no being
our thoughts touched.
We kissed.

Oh, we have kissed for past a thousand ages.
Deeps have waned and swelled
and on the slippery stones of yonder grot
the water dripping hollow in the dark
has left an aeon's inch on aeon's rock.
Time is.
And waxings and ebbings of our ocean-thoughts
turn with the motion of the spheres
and my soul steadfastly flows to yours
through eternities still undawned.