'The ghost-moon wastes his wax'

The ghost-moon wastes his wax -
Drips it down a fishing line to us,
Adrift on a noiseless sea.

Like the voices of the dead,
Wandering in white noise,
The ghost-moon wastes his wax.

Like the voices of the living,
Instantly lost, never found,
Adrift on a noiseless sea.

We cry like fish-cats,
Drifting in the alleys of the sea, as
The ghost-moon wastes his wax.

My song slumbers,
Unheard by man or machine,
Adrift on a noiseless sea.

And speaking Morse code,
The spectres ask why
The ghost-moon wastes his wax,
Adrift on a noiseless sea.