Ian Parks
At Boscastle
The past is an inexplicable place
revisited on days like this
when the tide wells up in eddies
at our feet and the harbour-mouth discloses
all the secrets of the west.
And yes, the hill is just as steep
as we expected it to be
and if I squint through this fine spray
I’ll see him standing in old age
to watch her phantom fading on the slope.
There’s a lesson in this somewhere -
for us perhaps; for lovers certainly.
Something to do with holding fast
to the moment, to each other
and this iris-coloured vision of the sea.
Page(s) 36
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