Saturday, 12 August 2017

The swimmer in winter


Lanyard, seaward, tethered to tide,
the swimmer standing tall.
Owns the slanting day down beach,
and the high sea's sky. That's all.

That's all there is. No secret,
in the knots running spate,
that ebb and flow, instilled
of whether to or not. The fate

of a swimmer in winter facing down
the wind that hiss-spits in his face.
Armfuls of horizon, cutlass grey,
snow gulls tumbling down in grace.

The ocean vehement,
shouldered in towering,
banshee in screams, wild
in glaring, growling, glowering,
a predatory wolf in a skein of sky.
Unfaltering waves, icy in solemnity confirm,
when ensnared in snarls, and gritted by both sides,
they steadfastly refuse to squirm,
or slip their lanyard, tethering tides.

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