There is a ghost peers round the doorposts here,
A white-shrouded child made real in silver nitrate,
A wraith with sunken teeth, a howl, a cripple’s gait,
Repelling fellow spirits of the mind; she is in fear,
Of the troubled course to paradise she has to run,
Through purgatory, the years of sins that harm,
The child with ignorance of scripture and of psalm,
The putsch against the freedoms that were won.
And we send her to her rest with logic and reality,
End dreams of dark mind with travel to the stars,
An ark in space containing all her father’s thought,
The last of Earth that failed in ships we wrought,
With hard metals, knowledge gained in many wars,
Through history that nurtures ghosts and liquidity.
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