higher in the hills
a season’s rain has fallen
tonight the river through the village will rise
and, white, will wash the rounded rocks
the moss on the downstream sheltered sides will remain
higher in the hills
a season’s rain has fallen
tonight the river through the village will rise
and, white, will wash the rounded rocks
the moss on the downstream sheltered sides will remain
the world still turns
the geese remind me
they will be back you know
you tell me
and we shall see them
The wood you stand on, washed up flotsam on the stones,
once held my father’s weight above the waves;
the rusted bolt you kick with a thoughtful frown
kept closed the press which held his family maps.
It will be a found feature in your off-white apartment,
a reminder of the sea to bring the old outdoors inside.
Treat it kindly, with due respect.
It held safe their lives until that day
and now outlives them.