I return. Two if
by sea.
God-force without a compass.
Not for homesickness.
I have no real place.
The rail acts as stylus.
Dirty crackle. Hiss
of anticipation.
I board a north boat with lanterns.
Gulls in my wake.
The edge of the world knows
the songs of my heavy-booted fathers.
Cliffs rise to welcome me.
Oceanic. Colder
than pewter.
Wyeth skies find a home
on the other side of the Atlantic.
I see an unknown soldier in the clouds,
covered with a greatcoat.
He whispers. Mainland.
Welcomes me with a wheelhouse.
Offers cake. A
pillow for my head.
Shows me the next bend in the road.
Shows me the next bend in the road.
tk/August 2014
R.A.D. Stainforth, fresh from a wander in Shetland...
*photo: Yell Sound, Shetland, 2014, by R.A.D. Stainforth
