my silence, perhaps, may be misconstrued
in the archipelago will be the subject of this story
this part of the globe changed into a collection of isles,
a history of winds, tides and currents
masters of vessels, seeking
in their computation of time
in the beginning there was nothing but sky and water,
until a black cloud, low near horizon
saw something white like a sail
lost in the void, entered by storm
landed without oppostion
with no knowledge of the kingdom
void of all faith, heathens
counter-poison fibers of a plant into handkerchief
its cities sacked and pillaged
gold idols broken up
burned wooden idols
fighting into the night
the uprising and its fervent devotion
but misfortunes of the enemy
may live to repent their fatal success
there is more than we can estimate
an infinity in their waters
in which one must seek nothing, other than the assembly