I stood on the cliffs and looked out to blue, blue sea,

the bobbing boats with lines and nets in the bounty.

——-

An innocence spread out on the tortured ruins below

the rippling waves where we came too    late, too       slow. 

–

Heard the bells of the churches and cathedrals calling

‘neath the waves in sadness and sorrow and raw regret.

–

I heard the bells of bicycles and front doors and a sound

of the clocks, that ticked away the rising waters of ice

–

melt, as the sun’s strength grew, and indecisive leaders

tried, and Canute like, failed to turn the trespassing tide.

–

I watched folk, weighed down with a silvery, fish catch,

as they carried their boxes up the fresh cut, cliff steps.

–

I laid a hand on my swelling tide of my own and felt

the hoped for baby tumbling beneath my trembling hands.

—

The heat of the sun bore down on us both and I turned

to return to the city, with its ancient walls, where windows

—

looked once on rolling fields; now upon rising tumbling waves.

An ancient settlement. Where fish are plenty but land is rare.