On low horizon, my figure stirs a memory that followed the mud rime paths.
Descry emotions, found left behind in places, old abandoned workings.
Grey, hard, feelings, unlocked from a geography of time.
Outcast weather, rough walled borders, stranded the wrong side of rivers in spate.
Light breaks, though the way isn’t clear,not from here. This is another place.
Here a lifetime ago wrapped in wonder the shore became a boundary.
Casting lines from shell wrecked staging, acceptance, a kind word, all I wanted
I never saw then what lay beyond, never dreamed of other shores.
This was enough, I had all I desired. Rod in hand, I waited for nothing.
I’ve left too much behind, looked too far forward, lost myself in seasons end.
At the mudflats edge, the crying gull, ever present rain, the weight of wind holds.
Stubborn, pushing through spiteful drizzle,to watch the remote toil on fallow sand.
Take a moment to establish reverence, muted praise, the cold thrilled hope.

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