Barque of phosphor
On the palmy beach,
Move outward into heaven,
Into the alabsters
And night blues.
Foam and cloud are one.
Sultry moon-monsters
Are dissolving.
Fill your black hull
With white moonlight.
There will never be an end
To this droning of the surf.
Again, a beautifully ambiguous line: the surf will go on and on, both in human experience, and outside of it. 

Fabliau of Florida