I resolved that this would be

My last visit.

A pilgrimage of sorts

To the time capsuled boat house garage,

To the skeins of geese,

Browns hotel, tables of half -drunk glasses.

Knowing this, my senses were on fire

For whatever presence lingers here,

Wondering if morning still comes

Wounded from the western hills,

Or if cormorants still hug the shore

Oblivious of place, space and time.

My eyes roamed the sifting, shifting sands,

Parting clouds, shadows across the estuary.

I watched a robin punch out his breast

Sing pugnaciously, chord less but pure

In the distance a heron, not flying

But striding purposefully

Across the mudflats.

Breaking the equilibrium,

So that nothing was contained

Within the moment,

Within the horizon.

And, in the evening,

The rains came; it was enough for this lifetime.

—

John Stocks is a poet based in the UK. He recently had the honor of sharing a page with the great Maya Angelou in the anthology Heart Shoots. He is the co-author, writing as Sam Holberry, of the novel Beer, Balls and the Belgian Mafia.