When we
walked up the hill above Salthouse
and saw, looking down where we’d been
ourselves
on the beach waving back –
we were here and there and no-place
coming
and going at once, perceiving
the speckled clouds as sleeping seals,
as we
dipped our toes in the breeze
and watched from the hill’s shoreline
a kestrel
come in with the tide,
and hold his stillness open
over the
ship weathervane
of a church that was floating and drowned,
his
shadow on the ground beneath him
the anchor that kept him aloft.
© Charles
Bennett. This poem appears by kind permission of the
author. |