Our weariness chose the island
the slim biography each wave writes.
Now body, breath and wave are one.
Our pulse is steady, grammatical
nothing can change our rhythm.
We smile, full of the sea’s madness
like a pair of cockles, cupped
lovingly in the hands of a child.
This is the final poem in the On the Island series for now… I have however gone back and written several new poems to go with this series. This poem was primarily written during the last two weeks of the school year, which is a crazy, crazy time… and it has helped me greatly to keep my mind still and settled. I really feel like I have inhabited the island. Thank you to everyone who has commented along the way… your thoughts are always welcome.
