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In the last two weeks feelings of all kinds, like leaf debris, have piled against my boundaries. Successes have left small treasures in the dross, while sorrow has also left its marks. The bath project has come to a kind of standstill although the tiling is done, were waiting on plumbers and electrical guys. I’m not sure we will have completion before we leave on our trip coming up next week.

tubandtile

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It’s looking better than I imagined. The inset hex tiles are navy blue which don’t quite match but add interest.

 

We helped send the ashes of our friend Nic on his journey. David and I both wrote poems when we returned home. Nic’s transitions this year were plentiful, perhaps too many for one soul to bear. In spite of his well honed bravado, he was a poet and a lover, deeply moved by love and hurt by injustice and mean spirited people.

David’s poem

Calf deep in the cold ocean
I watched him trickle out,
milky maelstroms mingled with sea foam. (swirls, clouds)

Then the pour, and a wave surges and retreats, drawing with it a thick translucent column,
an arrow to the horizon, a road to the unknown.

Another surge, and it dissipates,
leaving behind white flecks on the sand, like placer gold, each a nugget of history:
weddings and funerals, post-work beers, flamboyant boasts, oysters, prosecco.

I wonder have I done enough? Could anyone?

The water is clear now.

What left is this: to sluice and sift for the gold of the past,

and treasure each fleck.

 

and mine

At the beach – Nic

maybe it was last year
you blew the horn at Midsummer
looking as happy as anyone might
with a two foot long heraldic trumpet
at your lips.

You were at a duality
surging closer to a singular current.

I stood in the ocean to say goodbye,
cold pain, Pacific pain, shooting up my ankles
I was present to that, to the thick stream
of ash floating on the water
fragments hung, sank, came into shore a little
on the gesture of the waves.

Briefly you’re all there, coalesced into a shape
not corporeal but rationale, geometric
shaped to move steadily in mass
all parts seeking the sea.

All parts seeking release.
I’ll be catching up this week and hope to join Judith in her joyful celebration of all things hats at Hat Attack later this week.

 

 

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