Birth Day. What joy we muster
As if by decree. But must we
Eat cake? inflate balloons?
Blow candles out in
One long breath?
(A snuffed out kind of death)
Give tokens for the gift of life
And still our babies gasp
Their first on air and howl
And ever after weep
Somewhat existentially rueful on my birthday with this evocative photo from Shay to prompt our Sunday Muse
A rare outing with camera and some somewhat rare, recent sunshine in the company of my daughter and her dog Nimbus
It surely cannot last too long
This segregation. Already the count
Has reached some; this year is
Turning three. I, too, turn and keep
Lookout, so often staring out.
Empty and still is the horizon.
The beach swept clean
The streets swept clean
Migrating birds have gone and come
Again and yet once more.
I hear the cuckoo call alone
Turn solo circles with the swifts.
All signs of you are only pinned
Beached high up the shingle strand
tides barely lap these clinker boards.
Yet they are surely weathering
– sun bleached grey
– rain drenched moss
– wind burnt where the paint peels.
The chains that anchor down
quite rusty now and feeble
to a great storm surge.
Please pray it comes one Autumn. One Astronomical
tide under a crucifixion sky. Buoyant at last
with a silent cry. Unmoored. Free.
Breaking apart on an outward swell
As you did, whilst I slept on, so well.
With this nautical photo prompt, Carrie has launched our Sunday Muse!