And as the sounds
of liquids gushing
subsided, a hum
was clearly heard.
So like the foreign chant
of devils' disciples,
all hoarse in voice
made of persuasiveness,
bold continuity,
like beating one's own fingers
of shrill dissonance
against the cave's own pane,
demanding passage
into the benevolence
of darkness with its drops
of syrup, borne by shooting stars:
Do come inside!
The sounds rose high,
moist air convulsing now
fresh waves, oscilloscopes,
on which soft velvet rode astride,
and with a whimper it gave way,
the portal fell, admitting troops
of agile fishes to the sea,
where all was soon consumed
by spikes of lightning speed
and by the weeping mother of all tides.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mother-of-all-tides/