When you live on an island the sea is never far away and I often find myself, in one of the small sandy bays that form a golden necklace around Guernsey, gazing out to the horizon. The unending blueness never fails to work its salty magic to energize and enthrall me.
Out slowly, slowly rolls the sea
to that far edge beneath the sky
where two competing ultra blues
collide and the outreaching eye
is drawn. There lies the mystery
to which there are no keys or clues.
There, in a trembling inky script,
words run from east to west and yet
are coded, illegible.
Here on the shore, trapped in Time’s net,
I struggle but am ill-equipped
to match the code-creator’s skill
of making us desirous, fond
of vistas that are vagabond.