Temple-dark dawn's first light
mothering forth love,refugee
from the womb~sea's history;
a tide carrying the child, death.
Hope-blind from gassed stars;
word bombs cluster, calling
agasp from hacking trees,
leaf by choking brown leaf;
driving you free, exiled over
droning, speculated horizons.
Ours, the shingle mind
of the eastern shore,
a~shift in the treachery
of islanding arabesques;
scrawling out bestiaries
of Sogdian subtlety
on the iron Baltic air;
' Our wyrd, an amber pulse,
a word-worshiping surf,
of far-migrant tongues.'
Out, out wide over whale-
roading waves of winter,
these white-arcing wings,
heaven-streaming gulls,
trawl this frothing island
and its mew of migrations.
On thermals threading from
funeral silvered Sutton Hoo
to slave silvered Timbuktu;
this flotsam-weathered 'we',
home from oceans, beached
sea-ward, we reverse refugees,
stunned into a sun~like stillness,
seeking the undying surge,
of the sea : wave dark graves:
a wing tip's horizon of peace.
Notes:
Sogdiana was the kingdom at one end of the ancient silk roads. The Sogdians were the greatest merchants of the silk roads.
'Wyrd' is an Anglo~Saxon word connoting destiny or fate.
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