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Tides The water washed your name away from the sand; nothing holds: Look at this changing, each day wears a fresh smell, carrying Old odours with it. We continue despite the rise and fall of the sea. Its lace wiping the slate an imaginary clean. Footprint it, there Again we have carved in the old weakness, the old pain On the new sheen. The sands pull, pull underfoot back to the sea Obeying their own deep order. While you, rise, gull sharp in my mind; The shell lies perfectly empty. The waves pound and pound. © Anne Le Marquand Hartigan
To read the Introduction by Brendan Kennelly Click Here
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