Wendy French
Night Tide
I walk on a shingle where I’ve come to love
the fisherman’s upturned boat, sea-weed darkened.
Red Valerian blows in night’s black casement
watched by the eye of the gull – but the bird has flown.
A tree without branches grows on the shoreline – further
inland the dog-rose.
I’ve forgotten a truth I once knew.
At a harp without strings the harpist flounders.
But the music is there in the ache of my body.
In the words beyond this night.
Wendy French works in a freelance capacity promoting writing and personal development in a healthcare setting. Her first full collection, Splintering the Dark, was take the cup published by Rockingham in 2005.
Page(s) 55
magazine list
- Features
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- Acumen
- Agenda
- Ambit
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- Rialto, The
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