Pulled by the spray plumes
Subsumed by the outcrop of rocks
A sound foundation for the lighthouse
I escaped here when the noise rose
Not as a perpetrator you understand
Silent, non-committal, more my usual stance
Infinite skies atop the endless sea
Vast expanses, mystery aimed at, within and without
Room beyond reason for all of my doubts
I stood there
On the rough moorland grass
At the start of the track to the shoreline
From this safe distance
I watched boys play in the pools
I had no need of engagement
An irregular rumble of the waves from France
Occasionally a flurry; with the rise and crash
As though over excitement was in the air
A sort of ‘new shoes and fancy hairdo for the party’
Type of mood, it often lifted me
Brought me, back home, to the new noise of life
This poem is from the collection
