It’s how the wind strikes the face.
like being lifted in a dancer’s arms
to the sound of a music
that is filled with memories and promise.
And there you were, face alight
silent laughter filling your body
with a bounce and a restless
kinetic urgency drawn from the waves.
You’re like a child, free at last
from the burden of a daily care
and allowed to run wildly
and to daub your paint on your canvas.
A setting out, froth and spray
a salt cleaning of all those mistakes
that have crushed and silted you,
weighed you down and turned your shoulders inward.
There ahead, blown towards us,
heralded by the cries of seagulls
find a climb to the wildness
of mountain ridges and simplicity.
It’s only now on this quay
that the struggle out of a darkness
of a misapprehension
can be seen in the glinting of your eyes.