Alice Allen
Each day before daybreak
Here in a boat on the grey sea-field
fastened to the water wave by wave
the sky seems further out than ever before
and at its touch the earth’s curve glistens.
Shackled to this vast and floating mass
time sinks and falls and turns inside itself
and every wave’s a copy of the last.
The currents carve thick furrows for the gulls
to bob and rise and then to disappear.
There are those who from the land long for the sea
to feel its salt-call winnow through
their lungs like wind through heather.
I look to land and only see a line.
Is all the world a hollow?
My fingers grip the water’s shifting skin.
Page(s) 6
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