Cove VII

I have been here before.

Limpet ridden ribs of rock splayed and beckoning below
And dark tunnels, empty, throaty Os to get through before

Stopping, being stopped, by gulls at the mouth
Demanding my full attention,
And such an idyll before me.
They said there was no such thing as a safe harbour,
and so I find one.

The shells are different and have changed since I was last here, somehow,
And I think the sand has reformed differently too.
Wiser men coax acceptance of this.
I must get used to the way life is: seasons whirling by me, clocks constantly changing, not one rug staying still…

And losing you, the person I knew: how people change too,
How it scares me, how little I learned
How much less of what I knew is true.
So I watch from the shore as you leave once more,
Strange to me now, not you.

Wide stone walls halt the battering sea just as your arms used to enfold me.
Still I’m hopeful of a low tide,
Of a long time,
And I learn to trust my feet,
Bounce balanced from rock to rock, sure of something, and

Climb high, with rhythm, to a grassy place at the top of a stack
Where I rest
Watching thoughts plunge like fulmars into the sea.
I must have missed your glances, missed our chances,

But I don’t mind. Not any more.
Mind like a perfect harbour
And my anchor,
The still blue.

I have been here before, without you.

June 09