Three of Wands A calm, stately personage, with his back turned, looking from a cliffs edge at ships passing over the sea. Three staves are planted in the ground, and he leans slightly on one of them He dreams of ships Moving, silently and with The grace of clouds Through water the colour of Tarnished metal Waves damped down to sullen swells By the weight of his expectation Let them slide through, like icebergs. Unstoppable, shocking all who see them with the density of their presence. Let them be more real than the ports they visit, their sharp profiles stabbing the eyes of those who inhabit those low, windswept towns. Though they are made only of wood and tar, canvas and steel, let all those elements be energised and brought together by the urgency of my desire. If I cannot go with the agents of my thoughts, across those glittering, slippery waters, let them take the part of me that yearns with them. Let them stand for me in the parts of this world I shall never own wit