Estuary
Does a dunlin hope for summer’s welcome, Like memories, or a wished-for window, The view from a river-boat under sail? Gentle lapping replaces traffic-noise, A gull breaks the silence, In this world of ripples. Things don't necessarily improve here, They stand removed from our wishes, reflect Sly quayside children, or clouds in the sky To dog-walkers from nearby villages. What can the future be? Not a present surface, Nor invention’s alloy, nor slick technique. More a fairy-story than a rumour, Exist to be believed-in, not proven, Always the same, except for the teller, Which may not matter much Or may be everything. This world of games within games within games, With no definite aim, never-ending, Of just so much and no more, meaningful Because fleeting or difficult to say, Looking across water At countless shards of light. Where the question “Why are we here?” lacks a point; Since the birds consent to live without pride Between broken branches, beneath willows, To be warmed by th...