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this dreadful sea is a single hope,
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gift of my poor dead comrade: that
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You may be stronger-willed than I, and that by sheer force of
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concentration I may transmit to You, along with Your official Heritage,
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a private legacy of awful recollection and negative resolve.
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Mad as it may be, my dream is that some unimaginable
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embodiment of myself
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(or myself plus Her if that's how it must be) will
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come to find itself expressing, in however garbled or radical a
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translation, some reflection of these reflections.
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It's a dream of changing the tradition, of having that individual
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voice added to the tradition, to have it become part of the official heritage