by Stephen Rowe
and gift it away in a flutter of progress:
fold it in coloured paper like an origami crane,
a creature of bluest possibilities stood wading
where waves once stroked the shore;
it will satisfy their ends as only
the passive can: a coastal zoo complete with
animals, quaint inhabitants, seaside villas
toured with a view of tomorrow in the offing;
a bird aimless in the sea with a wake
broad as a five hundred year history,
each day thoughts of its hatching misting over
in the thickening fog of the North Atlantic.
And the heart’s continental shelf
with its depths of longing; that legacy demands I
fold a thousand origami cranes of my own,
a siege of paper swarming crests of white, of blue.
