Three Steps South (On Swyre Head) Copyright © Richard J Whiting 2011

Three steps south of here
Everything stops;
A peregrine nests
In the loose crag
Veering north to hunt.
Portland lays a
Protective arm
Around Weymouth Bay
Its light winking
At the perils
Of the sea,
Unseen.

I wish I could name this flora, fauna;
The grasses, insects
Moths and butterflies;
Or the clouds
Which send their
Shadowy waves sliding
Across the grass
Like a second sea.

All I can identify
Is in the wreath.
Browned forget-me-nots
Iris, lily and English rose
Words of loss
Lightened by tears
Carried in the rain.

Here, the senses are filled
By beauty.
Eyes struggle
With their hoard.
From Swyre Head
The sea gate-crashes
Durdle Door
Wearing a sequined
Evening gown
To party with the night.

What grief then
To stand here
Unheeding, blind,
Choked of feeling
And to take
Those three steps south.

To comprehend this
Is to rebuild the rocks;
Breathe life
Into ammonite,
Fossil forest;
To replant the flowers
Of the wreath,
Send back the sun
To turn back Time.

The peregrine returns
With prey.
Suddenly vertiginous,
I too, veer to the north
Noticing the eastern sky
Drenching the Dorset coast
In gold.