I have not known a peace
to equal this
possession of the air, the nearer sky
where even the seabird's cry
is tranquilised, by strange alchemy,
to music ...
Though yesterday reiterates
from rigid stones
I sense today's pervading calm
the west wind persuading
that forever is a psalm above
the silent earth —
Here is the mind retrieved
from nightmare dalliance with
the fate of flesh that has escaped
the cleansing crematorium
what is beneath
the granite block, the marble cross
is dream substance —
only their peace is real
and the knowledge that I have,
in this brief isolation, inherited
a longing to lie here
instead of in my native place —
to have the seagulls making music over me...

I have come down
to the welter of seashore
so many gulls screaming, raucous
for the bread that dips and heaves
upon the ceaseless waters —