He could not
feel bad here
lying under
the good stars.

The lighthouse
was just visible
& tall waves
knew grey rock.

He recalled
other beaches,
summers & the taste
of strawberries.

The guitar of
wind kissed skin
& hair as nightbirds
made love to
quivering shoreline.

The tide had turned.
Mariners considered
new catches & dreamt
once more of death
by drowning.

The promise of
sky & sea were
never more obvious.


Written after two trips to Peggy’s Cove. Some moments of being have a tremendous calm, peace and simplicity about them and are more moments of be-ing than becoming. I find these are also often associated with love.

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