The sea is soft and soft
The nuanced colored folds
Of twilight’s robes spread
High above the bright horizon
That waits to receive
The great ruddy golden sun,
Poised burning at the lip;
He waits, this diplomat
Who walks the white sands
Of this precinct of refuge,
To hear the sizzle as of
Hot metal quenched, to see
The steam rise in clouds,
Perhaps runes of augury;
He needs counsel, would
Prefer something surer,
A sign even of the doom
Of his delicate enterprises,
If only such were reliable;
Impatience and treason he has
Found twined together within;
His body delights him
Only when it takes him
Unawares, his mind delights
Him less than formerly;
Beyond every twist there
Is yet another turn,
No setting lets change rest;
The sun meets the horizon
In silence, there is no
Sizzling, no steam, no shape,
No advice; he is alone
With his thoughts and the cries
Of the water birds, urgent
Accents on awkward beauty;
This planet, they say, is
Like long lost home, a place
That was before musing or memory;
Its inhabitants are a rare
And wild race, sighted only
Once or twice in a decade,
And then but briefly glimpsed;
The breeze is from the sea,
It has the tang of salt
And impossible freedoms in it;
Moist air into moist air,
He speaks to himself
Aloud in actual words,
As if he were another,
As if he could
Yet become another,
As if he could
Step outside himself
And leave himself
And yet walk on,
Leaving behind footprints
Five toed other
Than his imploring own
On this white smooth sand
By this far
Unlistening sea;
There is pain
At the corners of his mouth;
Where lip meets lip,
Something bites,
He can not say
What or why;
All action is become
Agony and contemplation
Also agony;
When he sees the creature
In a grove of palms
Just ahead where the beach
Begins to turn
A white shoulder to sea
And recede
There is first only fear,
Fear without recognition:
The face is flat,
Sallow almost yellow,
It contorts,
Shows itself elastic,
Able to take any shape,
So shapeless;
The arms and legs,
Two of each,
Are red the color
Of rust, elongated,
Composed of vines
Or cables, braided,
Limbs of many strands;
The creature moves
Like a shadow,
But unattached;
It slides and glides
Across the ground,
Coming and going at will,
Meeting no obstacles.
Judgment is instant;
A lifetime of judging
And thinking and judging again
Leaves no room for doubt:
The diplomat can not elude
The creature, if it means
To strangle him, so it will.
The bit is released
From the corners
Of his mouth;
He does not fear,
He no longer has to work
So hard to rein himself in;
His mission is clear.
The creature stands
And waits and looks;
The creature is more
Frightened than he,
Without words or ideas,
More exquisite
And primitive both;
The creature rushes near,
Catches him
Across the shoulders,
Across the neck, so that
He feels the rasp of its arms
On him, gathers terror
From it, but stands still;
Then the creature
Is gone
So utterly gone
That no diplomacy
Or art can evoke
Such loss
Beside the sea
At twilight
On a planet
Both familiar and alien,
The sky fading
Beyond blue towards black,
The diplomat speechless,
Without policy.