What if you blew me away, Lord,
On this gentle waft of a breeze,
Across the white lace petticoat
And the wide-spread skirt of the seas?
Beyond seductive aqua
To bluer, sapphire deep,
Where whales lament in baritone,
And languid dugongs weep.
There is another haunting here.
I hear a faint faint bell,
And muted moans of shipwrecks
Swaying slowly in the swell.
This is a turgid highway
Of migrants, winged and finned,
Of nomads, pranksters, pilgrims
With bearings deep within.
So when I’m blown out seaward
I’ll hear the signs and sighs
Of travellers who have been this way
Their history in their cries.
But I’ll hover in still moment
And despite the wind blast, sing,
My compass will direct my flight
To your antipodean spring.
Sharonne Price October 2011