Love Every Drop

The Modern Curse

Drop down through the drizzle
through heaving salt into a horseshoe bay
a line of foam frothing from the mouth's of whales
mixing beige at it's edges

But this world here is without portents
(being of the common era)
no sagas sung for the love of gods over it's waves
here everyone is tightly measured, weighed
& all the old idols smashed & fallen
speckling broken forts
strewn in abandoned gullies
staining sheer granite cliffs
but their old spells are still
woven deep in our wild valleys - unbound
waiting