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Beneath the brilliant sky
the dark sea heaves and rolls;
our boat lifts and drops
as you pull the oars,
guide us
towards the narrow inlet,
rocky cliff on each side.
Belongings in the bottom
of the boat, tied in an old shawl,
soaked with seawater.
In danger, pursued by the past,
our future lies between
the walls of rock.
If we can get ashore,
I know where to go.
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Reminds me of Odysseus negotiating the Straits of Messina but much more personal and internalised and with a confident uplifting conclusion. Fine indeed, Willow
Thanks, John, always lovely to get your comments.
Very beautiful. I love the last few lines especially…pursued by the past, future between walls of rock, knowing where to go if you can only reach the shore. Beautiful imagery!
Lorien, thank you–glad you liked it.