Strange Convergences

Two old friends still meet,

Clenched in a watery frame,

One abruptly unformed,

The other an infinite blend.

A century of fame now

Beyond their intimate reckoning -

Torn steel cannot mend,

Nor same-ice recombine,

That invisible moment,

A voiceless slide,

Like a lissom dance,

Slight touch to foment

And dark waves to hide,

A starless settling.

To the twain who met,

A stranger arrives,

One not yet

On the sunless shore,

Or the shoreless sea,

In the crumpled dark -

Still, an emissary of light,

Of frank curiosity.

'Oh, welcome friend,

Our table's set,

Pull up a chair,

A trine are we.'