the alphabet of fear, a current running just offshore, off the edge of some clan pier which wasn’t mine, the sinking feel of footings underwater, ankle-deep on what remains, afraid i’ll drown, swept out (there was a broom) to sea.
close by two women wade, prosaic under sun umbrella, hauling pigeons to sell. i too discover i can walk … deep in this place that feels like history, old jossticks burning, old offerings.
here on this once bombed island i re-enter my singular, body alive in the halflight morning, in a rush of wings (gone) the cooroo song (blue dove, blue vulnerable yearn- ing). you call me and i am speechless. you call me and i am still. out of this murmuring wreckage of names, old beach, iam finding a new floor. miles off i walk in water feeling the current, our swift magnetic current run, all around the islands sinking in me and you.
From “Booking Passage” in Salvage, Red Deer College Press, 1991