All the machines are on,
Gravity and the east wind,
The floating spheres
Of fire and reflection
Alternating fear and false hope.
In a few days will rise
The moon in full
Out of the curve of the earth,
Skull of the furled sea,
The dark parted lips
Of the soluble dead
Facing the mainland,
Showing white tongues
To what lives.
Tide follows tide follows tide,
The rise of a transient gleam,
The collapse and the shattering,
Work of the gods from machines.
We never had a chance.
