Kingsbrae 20.1
20 June 2017


Mist covers Passamaquoddy Bay.
The stone roads stretch long arms
out into the mist and figures move
along them, losing shape and form,
disappearing, so many gone, lost on
fishing grounds, fallen from boats,
while some, sad and alone, have filled
their pockets with a load of stones
and walked out into the clinging mist,
never to return. What is it like,
that slow immersion into cold waters,
the shallows, the water deepening,
the sudden depths, the rip tide
and the currents that sweep you
off your feet and carry you out, down,
and away to be lost forever in those
swirling mists that cloak the bay?
The mist knits itself in and out,
covering the scene before me
with a theatrical curtain that raises
and lowers itself. I watch the stage
before me. Mist thins and figures grow
stronger. There’ll be no tragedy today,
just a comedy of errors as footsteps
wet and muddy come my way and
a dog shakes salt and water from its coat
covering her owners with mud and spray.

5 thoughts on “Lost!

    • They have certainly been different. I have somehow managed to mix metaphor, allegory, and double meaning into an unfolding of deeper texts. It was partly the seminars I gave on metaphor in Saint John (WFNB) and partly the freedom that has come here from the residency. Thank you for following me, encouraging, and commenting. You are very much appreciated, especially when I have so little free time to reach out to others.

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