He went down to the silver sea
He scrawled the names for laughter on the emptiness
Once, in Marathon, he hurled a question about forgetting
He received no answer.
The walking shadows murmur
The tumbling stony fringe of truth
Repeating stories that were overheard
When Xenophon pulled them from his pocket.
He arrives in time to count the loss,
He arrives in time to play the glorious sunlight.