On rough, rough seas and whitewashed waves
my stomach heaves
the edges rocking on and on:
our vessel tips from side to side
no taste nor energy
How near am I to leaving, docking
one last time?
Is that decay my fingertips can feel?
The creeping dark
the dreadful sound
of ants on deck
and beetles in the cabin floor
the shutting of the cabin door
on memories long cast aside
but knocking on the wall
old truths and lies
shape-changing as I fall
And more: the hills ashore are steeper now:
a woman walking backwards passes me
hands me goalkeepers’ gloves, shutting out light
just when I need to score
I keep my phone line clear
but no-one calls
I reach and reach again
The empty beach erodes
I stand on cliffs
or fall into the sea
Just you, just me