Monday, 15 November 2021

Wild

No more pain, the wind says - 
You've been too long in its quicksand. 

Beyond the muteness, 
Beyond the cravenness,
There's this -
This inlet where the tide comes in
These limpet-strewn rocks and
The orange beak of the oystercatcher
In the dim winter light.

Yes, layer upon layer has been stripped,
But what of wildness?
On this rain-lashed beach
It will no longer wait.
It wants me back:
I have been on loan to civility for far too long. 


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