The Islands

By Charles Brasch 

Always, in these islands, meeting and parting

Shake us, making tremulous the salt-rimmed air;

Divided and perplexed the sea is waiting,

Birds and fishes visit and disappear.

The future and the past stand at our doors,

Beggars who for one look of trust will open

Worlds that can answer our unknown desires,

Entering us like rain and sun to ripen.

Remindingly beside the quays, the white

Ships lie smoking; and from their haunted bay

The godwits vanish towards another summer.

Everywhere in light and calm murmuring

Shadow of departure; distance looks our way

And none knows where he will lie down at night.