Monday, 9 January 2012

Whitby Man

The year has gone
Cold fronts and outsiders
Blown back with time
In the front bar
A man who went to sea
With dark mild and distain

Outside, an empty fullness
Buoys and breakwater
Ladders of wood below wood
Crab pots and cold, flashing light
Piled stones before sea
And a tide he watches in or out

Inside a view of abbey walls
No one has come to look
But he listens still
All beard and blood vessels
For the echoed, distant laughter
Of those who never see the sea

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