Journey

Valley twists

to forest

 

river fleuve

green carapace

 

silent.

 

Drop down

to Paris basin

 

fat plough

tills dry

 

soil in

late August

 

light.

 

Light coats

sward

 

beneath

huge Quixotic

 

windmills

hands held

 

to heaven.

 

Crest of the hill

falls away

 

sea beneath

‘falaise’

 

such a tongue

tied word

 

to play

with.

 

Calais,

seagulls

 

whirl & mob

begging for

 

tourist

crumbs

 

like the

camp,

 

barely glimpsed

through iron

 

fence, ring

roading ’them’

 

from ‘us’

as if

 

indifference

renders

 

invisible.

 

Sun glints

late on

 

grey green

wave:

 

I am afloat

in all of this,

 

genuflect

returning.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.