Bonthrop de Ataraxia

It was midnight
the midnight tolling
it was midnight
october thursday
it was nineteen nineeteentwentyeight
it was a male or rather a female
he came and the autumn leaves were falling
in stillness, silvery stillness
he had a savage name
and the steel shining blue
he had a hoarse laughing
in a silvery pool
a fleshing vassel in the sun
from the southern seas
a ghostly wandering alone
in undistinguished seas
the torches, the flames and the shadows
the wind, its moaning and the dazzling lights
he came, the
oh, the southern west