The Saint (2003)

Then there is the man up there who
Bid me swim deep here, that walls on
Wells may hold. He rose high to spread
God’s wings by burying me here,
My bones the organum of waves
Booming wild on Hy’s hard shores.
I know he dreams of news of me,
Account of other isles I’ve seen.
Futurity has a backwards glance
Fatal to indulge or to curse.
I hear him pacing on the ground
Above, his query like a drum.
He cannot ask, though know he must,
As every story stirs the dust
Of faces that we miss the most.