Atopia

Notes from Nowhere

fimmtudagur, mars 16, 2006

I will think of you at low tide


I will think of you at low tide,
when the land under the sea is laid bare to the sky.
I'll shout to the wind the quiet sound of your name,
and look to my back as aloneness descends,
in the hope to see your face, standing behind me, urging me on to great things,
whispering 'yes' with the movement of your limbs.

Like a great oak in a red Devon field, branches wide and low,
giving colour and shelter and acorns for winter,
giving strength and grace, lending the earth your structure
rooted and reaching, encompassing all vertical,
and owning your patch with a fresh air of majesty.

But from today I will turn, to see you standing, here on this mountain,
and there will be a space, a silence, a terrible void where your face was.
I will sit at the sea and ask if this happened,
survey the horizon with a feeling of emptiness.
In short I will miss you, I'll remember you fondly,
when the sun surfs, when the air's cold, when the light is all hopeful,
I will think of you when the tide is low.

1 Comments:

At 6:21 e.h., Anonymous Nafnlaus said...

interestingly, this has some resonance with my own life. it was summer 1992 and i was in love for the first time. whilst holidaying in the idyll of south wales, my lover and i used to go for romantic walks along the beach. being a meterologist, bob (for 'twas his name) used to tell me about low and high water times, rather in the way people in films educate one another about the constellations of stars.

one time, we decided to go for a walk at low tide, imagine my surprise when instead of the usual wet sand you'd expect to be confronted with, the beach underneath the shallowest water was lined with jimmy saville lookalikes!

it was bloody weird, i can tell you.

verity

 

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