Rosamund Hall
Each Night
Stepping onto the quayside
I cannot sense the boat
I may wait hours
and then leave clumsily
The journey
whipped on by silence
begins on waves of memory
Easing to the asylum of the sea
I clear the walls
then
hoping for a clear run
I let out billows of white sail
There is a scraping against unmapped rocks
some so abrupt that I am overturned
and land blinking on an island
A great yacht should take me off
Settling for a raft
my feet dip into the wakeful waters
and the sound of waves breaking
Sometimes quite early
I arrive on an empty shore
and drinking tea
build my own castles
More often the air is busy
and I stay rocking off-shore
not keen to disembark
Page(s) 26
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