The gulls are fleet of wing,
as they skim across my shade,
and the darkness that obscures my vision,
is no more than the shadow of high tide among the clouds.
But what seeks me?
What calls my name in the salty air?
I taste the oceans;
their depths are known to me,
as frozen tears glitter upon the maiden's cheek
here, where I am far from the world upon this shore of life,
where the stars frolic and play their childish games,
in the surf abandoned to the sky.
Once more the ropes jump in my grasp,
twisting as snakes do.
And the snap of the sail rolls across a trackless land
where the turtle's back bears a thousand more scars.
Tuesday 21st January, 1997
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The Bard's Inn