Out standing on the surface
of a flat sea, these rotten, iron
structures are the last remnants
of field punishment #1; death poles
they be, with no place in the
conscience of a community
intent on preserving
the freedom of humanity.
Surreal almost, the rusted, iron posts
breaking through the surface of the sea
like broken soldiers, bean-stalk thin
and sunken lean, forgotten, wasted,
flogged each day for their ignorant sin.
It is all so much clearer in the still light
down on the beach with the silver-grey
surface of the sea reaching all the way
to the roof of the low sky; here is the
beginning and the end, both together,
at the same time.
The hall was alive in the evening,
the band and bard in place, the
dimmed lights, the shadows giving
space to each heart; and there
we dined alone and together, on
a little bread and wine.
Come shadow and dance me deep
through the splinters of moonlight,
across the dark stretch of beach,
let me feel the soft sand beneath my feet,
buoyed in your arms, I believe
the stars I can reach