Poem Comments

I walk at the land's edge,
turning in my mind
a private predicament.
Today the sea is indigo.
Thirty years an adult -
same mind, same
ridiculous quandaries -
but every time the sea
appears differently: today
a tumultuous dream,
flinging its waves ashore -

Nothing resolved,
I tread back over the moor
- but every time the moor
appears differently: this evening,
tufts of bog-cotton
unbutton themselves in the wind
- and then comes the road
so wearily familiar
the old shining road
that leads everywhere
...
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