fall bay

 fall bay

let’s turn at the worm and head east

where the curve of the dry stone walls 

pass the fields of sheep and the 

wild horses’ quizzical standing

drop the braken-way down 

to where the boats wait 

grassed above the sloping ledges

where the rocks hold time’s rusted cleats 

waiting for the boat to come in with the mackerel 

for the fishermen to spin their yarns upon

where the bay ends on the sand-slapped beach

we hold our stand appointing the strong waves

all along the creased cliffs that stride east

then 

up  up the hard way until our gasps reach the

iron runged ladder 

up off the coast path and into the fields

where our view changes its clothes again