The End of Failing
The Winter tide nibbles at a toe-dipped shoreline,
Above, the lowering sky grumbles at the lack of light
smudging a moleskin horizon.
A couple embroider loose stitches along the waveline
emerging like creation from the waters
half-way between the depths and the heights,
not quite fact or fiction
holding hands, in comfort as well as exploration.
Your heart asked God to place a pound in your path
if it was meant to be
and he said yes by giving you two.
On the Adur estuary skimming dreams across the surface
counting them as they bounce
not sinking or needing to come up for breath
In the perfect frozen stillness
we watch a lonely cormorant float across the sky
The sun is still a distant promise
but we feel the warmth of future fires igniting
And later in a wind-whipped harbour we watch
the sailing fantasies of absent mariners
moored together for warmth, as the north-east trades
blow us together, forging our shared heart as it shivers into being.
We take photographs, as if present at the birth of a great event
and we follow the currents to Bosham,
reading the runes in the seaweed signatures,
on the gulls-egg horizon
a tale we would not have dared to write
in the oblivion of yesterday
the hope, the honouring of a promise and the end of failing.
Roy Stannard 7.2.12