We were talking
into the night
of the sea
and our beginning there

of Venus rising-
flare white?
and of antiquity,
that common ground we share,

but under glaring
inquisitorial light;
no clarity
to expunge her sea-foamed hair.

Our dumb offering
of the trite,
a desultory
respect, our lack of care.

No longer believing
in any rite
nor the vanity
of reciprocated prayer.

Left grieving
our plight,
its continuity-
the dull fact of being here.