Denise Levertov

Night on Hatchet Cove

The screendoor whines, clacks
shut.             My thoughts crackle
with seaweed-seething diminishing
flickers of phosphorus.       Gulp
of a frog, plash
of herring leaping;
squawk of a gull disturbed, a splashing;
while silence poises for the breaking
bark of a seal: but silence.
only your breathing. I’ll
be quiet too. Out
stove, out lamp, let
night cut the question with profound
unanswer, sustained
echo of our unknowing.