The Whale-watcher Poem by Kathleen Jamie
The Whale-watcher
And when at last the road
gives out, I'll walk -
harsh grass, sea-maws,
lichen-crusted bedrock -
and hole up the cold
summer in some battered
caravan, quartering
the brittle waves
till my eyes evaporate
and I'm willing again
to deal myself in:
having watched them
breach, breathe, and dive
far out in the glare,
like stitches sewn in a rent
almost beyond repair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/6/2024 10:38:30 AM # 1.0.0.1119
