Dave Seddon
Like in dreams
the coolness still clings to the shadow
of the rock with a loving breeze
whilst the rocks on the cliff face across
bake and crack in the heat
the orange rocks change colour
at dusk and twilight
to become shades of violet
shadow reds
and surface blues
and to think of Ireland, the distant speck of cork
far away and possibly buried
Will I return to lowlands
to graze awhile
To plan is but to cast clods of mud
into the chasm, watch it split open
and crumble to dust
and scatter.
But now I am here. In this silent place
Of Berber ruins and their quiet ghosts.
No sound of wave
And in my pocket the scale of snake
Crisp and cracking.
Page(s) 35
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