Man before maker,
Let’s discard the build order,
Bring on uncountable dreary nights,
Of moaning and longing,
And squaring up to the, now defunct, other,
But burdened by the lack,
Some shape where some ‘thing’ belongs,
Not the least tangible,
Oh, reach out to that nonetheless,
Grasp and sigh,
Heave with whatever is left in you,
Find that untrained sinew,
Make a foe out of the empty night.
The Emergent Sea 