looking down
on the broad sweep of the bay
swathed in darkness
peppered by light
from street lights
dazzled
by the embrace
of the Copeland Island Light
the tide is rising
in the boatless bay
the sun is rising too
midst a break
in the coal grey clouds
with hints of yellow
red t'ards Galloway
all is ready for the new day
are we?
II
the crows are awake
now blowing
like burnt paper
in the breeze
the mountain ridges
and valleys of cloud
encircling
the lakes of brightening blue
tell me
the dawn is deepening
yet only a cyclist stirs
its is a new day
the Sabbath
may we rest in God's arms
replete
whole
reconciled
riplapped
seashorn
sky kissed
dawned
III
the ink black sea
laps
noisily
against the walls
pebble banks
and tired groynes
the sky is lustrous
with stars
in more constellations
than I know
to sea
the passing boats
shine luminous
as earthed stars
horizoned made
IV
luminescent sea
under milky sky
an eery presence make
across the Lough
the Blackhead Light calls
silently
forlorn
for no-one
but a mad man
would sail forth
this night
amidst a tempest
north wind tossed
until the spume of day
is lost
amidst the grey grave sea
upon the shore
the birds retreat
this is no night
for man nor beast
as wastrels feed
upon the deep's
uprooted colonies
of wrecked wrack
dismembered crabs
this night
of nights
forlorn.
