Sea-Fret Fogbank at Start Point

Sea-Fret Fogbank at Start Point:

Sea fret fog banks descend on this rocky peninsula, creating their own liminal space.

Erasing the past and the future, time becomes a loop.

Makes a  tidal island of Start Point.

 

Once before the fog came, maps were destroyed in the deluge of my grief.

I was lost, moorless, drifting and dead calm in a place between land and land.

 

This time my anchor is this lighthouse built on this rock and the sounding of this fog bell.

Sea fret fog descends, but yet I stand firm.

I feel my toes grip the moss on the rock.

Land is obliterated, without compass I am ignorant of direction, it matters not.

 

The fog bell sounds, a voice of low sonoration, waves of ultrasonic sound

As the voice of God on the immensity of the multitudinous waters, it shatters the cedars

and small houses drop into the ocean.

 

The fog is a gateway, a place where the veil thins.

Do not step out, for I know the cliff drops raggedly to the sea.

I am not tempted to follow.

We will finish this conversation in due time.

 

Until then I stand and wait.

The fog lifts and winds calm, the fog bell slows and finally stops

I am safe to continue my cliff top walk.

 


 

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