Wave the White Bat
The signal is a symbol of the old ways.
Someone will notice, with the corner of an eye
tuned to the river’s life.
Someone will launch the boat and be your ferryman,
come at the pace of the river and the river’s people.
Friend or stranger, your right of passage
will be honoured without question.
If you are wise you will lay down your urgency.
The estuary lives by the ticking of its own clock,
strikes its quarters in tides,
measures its years in floods,
the length of a shingle spit,
the silting of channels.
Warm your hands in your pockets,
tighten your anorak hood and watch,
as people have always watched across water
for the coming of a boat.
Page(s) 20
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