Robert James Berry
Maps
I leaf over soft uplands
Follow fanning estuaries
Into pale lakes
Imagining tides that chisel isthmuses
Towers of ice
Dark gravelly tongues of glaciers
Moving beside monstered sounds,
Archipelagos that unfurl into infinity.
Tacking these crenellated coasts
Where the grey blobs are boisterous ports
The broken lines
Shipping routes nosing out into open water
Into latitudes licked by sun,
At last my eye rounds a spit of sand
Sculpted by gales
And up along the choppy harbour
Into my childhood
Whipped by the wind.
Page(s) 62
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