A sudden dip at the last bend in the lane
down where the concrete pier juts out over the edge
and the wind draughts towards you over the incoming waves
as you stand, in a blast of cool mountain-driven air -

There it sits, realer than a dream,
the greenest of secrets unto itself -
apart from its little wooden jetty
that says, or seems to say, 'you can reach me'

But there's no boat in sight
and no one to even ask...

And this is how close, and how far
the peace is where you're connected
through and through

And if I can't sit here in peace,
where there's no means to cross
and nowhere to rest
but the uncut tangled verge

I'll never reach it
and nor, my friend, will you.


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