Athina B
21 January 1980

The words were buffeted on the airwaves
of the BBC World Service news at midnight,
fading in and out as atmospherics took control.
No helmsman guiding what was heard
amid the gale-winds and the storm-rain
sheeting off the roof, overflowing runnels.

A ship abandoned in the Channel off the coast
at Brighton. Whispers added by the wind:
it's waiting to be seen. Put on your coat,
leave a towel against your return
and bend into the wind.
And there is was, across from my street end:

a row of lights that tilted with the swell,
barely a Chain Pier's length from the beach.
I removed rain-smeared glasses, the lights
soft-focused. No sign of other watchers
facing into the sea's rage. I alone had heard
not quite the end of the world news.