Do you remember lying on the grass,
when nothing mattered more than looking at the stars?
When the ground beneath was enough,
there was nothing else to rush off to,
and the cool night air spread whispers through the sky.
Do you remember walking side by side,
knowing that in the fading light
on that stony path,
was exactly where we were meant to be?
And the breeze carried our thoughts,
and our eyes knew,
and the breath from your lips fell like a song into the air
and I knew the beauty of trees.
The sea holds a thousand secrets.
It can tell you why the moon never cries,
and where the stars have gone to.
It understands the gulls call,
knows when the guillemots and cormorants
will be ready to come home.
The sea can read a thousand faces.
It sees the sun relentlessly spilling its truths.
It does not question. Instead, it keeps to itself
the moments it would rather forget,
the things it has seen, that it regrets.
Her beauty lies in rounded dunes
and valleys deep.
She is of earth, and water,
her smell, lilacs at dusk.
Her voice the blackbirds call.
She is carries flames within.
She is the oceans breadth,
and the height of trees.
Her dreams fly on the back
of delicate butterfly wings.
She plays with her hair,
lies down with the breeze.
Summer’s footsteps leave impressions.
She is not yet ready to be tamed.
Last night I dreamed of the river.
It carried me away from here.
And in its reflection everything changed.
We were no longer our past selves.
In the quiet of silver moonlight
We slipped beneath the stars
And into the depths of each other.
When I breathe I can almost taste the salt,
almost feel on my tongue, the depth of you.
I am drawn like moth to flame, under some magician’s spell.
You magnetise, hypnotise. I am not myself.
Prise me from the ordinary, like pearl from shell,
tide peeled back from beach, I am revealed.
The sea, with its bewitching pull, disarms me.
Hidden layers of a life
waiting to be sewn,
a grey which skirted
what might have been.
If you’d lifted the hem
you’d have found the truth.
Instead you stayed back
chose not to look.
draped her frame.
She was not there.
A mannequin replied,
lied as required.
The sorry written
in her seams,
if only you’d seen.
The crow sits.
Watching from his high-rise.
Calling through the half-light.
With one brief flap of silent wings,
A flash of indigo black
disappearing into the mist.
Our guide has spoken. We follow.
His silhouette an arrow.
His eager chatter a call to catch up.
He returns to the embrace of trees