I stood on the cliffs and looked out to blue, blue sea,
the bobbing boats with lines and nets in the bounty.
——-
An innocence spread out on the tortured ruins below
the rippling waves where we came too late, too slow.
–
Heard the bells of the churches and cathedrals calling
‘neath the waves in sadness and sorrow and raw regret.
–
I heard the bells of bicycles and front doors and a sound
of the clocks, that ticked away the rising waters of ice
–
melt, as the sun’s strength grew, and indecisive leaders
tried, and Canute like, failed to turn the trespassing tide.
–
I watched folk, weighed down with a silvery, fish catch,
as they carried their boxes up the fresh cut, cliff steps.
–
I laid a hand on my swelling tide of my own and felt
the hoped for baby tumbling beneath my trembling hands.
—
The heat of the sun bore down on us both and I turned
to return to the city, with its ancient walls, where windows
—
looked once on rolling fields; now upon rising tumbling waves.
An ancient settlement. Where fish are plenty but land is rare.
