skip stones in your eyes,
wade past the shallow parts.
There is no need for old north boats,
since we have uncovered
our own safe passage.
Baggage drowns in the current;
a selkie dons my wedding veil,
wonders at so many shoes.
Spoon the rest of the journey;
give in to the tug of gravity,
the low ache that drops like stone.
A stormy berth is best, even though
you are too civilized for thunder.
Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth, taking time from his holiday in Shetland to read this poem.
|photo by Elena Kalis|