The dogs, marking
sand with brief print,
ancient scratch-language,
lengthen and, boundless, plunge
at the cones of surf,
smashing them, barking.
*
A lone figure travails the blown beach. He drags a suitcase. He looks up from his feet and seems surprised to find another living here and, as we pass, I see that the suitcase is a lobster pot; a smashed collection of wire and wood. I trail the draglines of the broken box, toward the headland; unravelling history.
*
Reaching the steps, I leave the beach and
follow the slow curve of concrete and iron
that leads, solemn, to St. Mary’s, and is lined
with the empty benches.
*
The past days gather at this moment,
so I read their names, their anniversaries;
the hyphenated space between.
And in ‘that hyphenated space between’ is where we all live. Only the dates are solid. I never looked at it that way before!
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Thank you for your time, Ingrid – x
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De nada x
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I love that last stanza, “The past days gather at this moment” in particuar.
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Thank you, Liz.
🙂
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A moment so gorgeously illustrated, wrapped in an awareness of the eternal.
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It felt good, Michele Lee 🙂
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Excellent! Felt good to read too. 😄
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“Time present and time past/ Are both perhaps present in time future/ And time future contained in time past./ If all time is eternally present/ All time is unredeemable.”
Yule magic to you, Nick, and wishes for an interesting New Year
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Thank you, Kim! And may your successes continue in 2022.
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Isn’t it amazing to imagine everything comprised in those hyphenated spaces?
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Such a small space.
Happy New Year, Tanja x
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And a happy new year to you, Nick.
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I love that last line – “the hyphenated space between”. ❤
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…and breathe 🙂
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