When the western sky is unsure of its blueand the dusk slowly curdles the shadows;
when darkness gently drizzles and falls through,
and curls up in a spot somewhere close,
then my leave from my life is curtailed;
the dragonfly dreams, the phrases that I’ve nailed,
the febrile bubbles that I’ve carefully held
are dropped and silver-shattered on the floors;
and I come back and quietly sit by you.
When the beach has tiptoed for miles along the thin,transparent waters of the ocean edge;
and failed to find its end, or where it begins
and stopped a moment beside a rocky ledge,
there my life is recalled to itself.
On a millennia old continental shelf
like a necklace set with a thousand seashells.
You strip me slow of all my need for language
and you open your arms and calmly fold me in.
When the foam leaps over the waves better to seethe sunset framed between the crystal hills.
And kites are flown till darkness cuts them free
and they lose themselves in the twilight chills.
Then my life is shaken out of its trance.
Where the cliffs retreat as the waves advance
and signal sternly, and the sea returns.
And I too am home. And things are the same still.
Just that you are still you, but somehow also me.