I have got my dining table clear again and my brain can start thinking of something else after all the concentration needed over the past four months.
|7.30 a.m. and off to Mainland|
Passenger on the Water Taxi
Why would a woman live alone on an island?
Hide herself away from love and friends?
She’d have to be a recluse, self-reliant, maybe
weird? – Or have a very strong belief
in being some sort of emerging artist?
Choose one or all, it can’t be easy.
She asks the same of herself – if she knew
she would answer – though she can’t
imagine anything other than island-life.
But I can tell you. It’s the boat in flight
away and back that holds her there:
her relaxed slump, her trance-blank stare
don’t reveal the involuntary rush of joy
flooding her limbs as her eyes drink
up the sea. in all its green blue-green moods
as if once again she’s following the call
of ancient memory like a migratory bird.