In our home place here
on the bigger of the two
in the north seas
we’ve had stormy weather
this long time now,
the kind that takes slices
out of your days, out of the waves
out of the face of the moon, the kind
that obscures, even, the shine of the sun.
Up it reared, one fine day, and we
could do nothing only put up with it,
and hold whatever can be grasped
from not being able to find
a whole, safe moment, awake
or asleep or in-between,
in your own country.
We sheltered among the upturnings
growing ever more afraid to hope. Buffeted
between bells and rosaries, we had
our work cut out for us to keep the pearl
of our home-made faith alive.
Taken to the head of the pass,
I thought we’d begun to lie under,
but then, just as we were nearly dropped over:
miracles. The splintered sea took
a sigh and settled. The cut of the wind
softened. Sun and moon reappeared
in all their fullness and we knew
what had taken consent
to their concealment to know.
So now, here we are.
Rejoicing in reflection.
Deeper than ever, in we dive,
into our dear, familiar lucency,
the light of our frayed ways,
restored to us, made new for us
to live within, again.
FURTHER READING: For more poems from me and an anthology of extracts about going creative: