S.B.T. 76

in my part of the country there are legends of seawidows and the ‘widows walk’ is a fixture atop every old harbor house an architectural testimony to vigilance and the strength of women who prayed for the ships return some perhaps enjoyed the solitude in biding time the sound of the long black skirt and the quickening blood and footsteps when at dawn the mastflag is spotted over the horizon wind engulfed in its own time not a widow yet she sighs smiling and runs to gather potatoes and pluck a chicken 'good morning barrister she waves yes the captain breaches near just over the bar we saw them clear'




between water pearls the oiled mirror bends
the rain where the pipeline darkened and dim
supersedes the horizon and takes us in

between the bearing of the sea and ledge of sky
silk streamers open in figure eight, a pattern of leaf
unravel embark the seagulls fly

between this moment and the next a silver breath an infinite peel
fog horn drawn out in fractal light
a royal flush in a shaded hand, a splay
of rope unwinds a spooling reel

the border of skin between your touch and fingertip lightly
gentles a skiff over waves and time
slips of sand and contour lines follow a gemstudded shore more fragrance of red clay and the tides moving rhyme

between this a line cast fate a blue whale calling her calf my captain
safe crossing through the shoals and the heaves rolling
to awaken and find ye in passage keep
all the gods protection hitched to the starboard
a compass rose and vigilant sleep

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widows walks have long been a fascination since childhood i have had to fight to resist the urge to climb upon them and pace pace pace perhaps some residue of another life long ago xxx