ESTUARY

by roy k austin
(Dorset England)

The sun is getting low now,
long evening shadows
quell the song of shrike,
a heron with legs hanging
lifting from a dyke
content to fly beyond
the last disturbance ;
flecks above the sky-line
are geese migrating
with winter in their wake,
like lines of script that prophesy
their trail across the barren moon,
counterpoint the life on earth,
lead my eye to the horizon ;

as darkness grows around them
stars slowly appear like something
remembered, not quite forgotten
seem to infer this feeling
of a cast spell on all who gaze,
not only on the eye above
between the eyes, but upon
the whole beautiful earth
floating like an apparition,
going nowhere through
an endless void of meaning-
the whirling Dervish reels
for stillness and for joy.

Tidal are these waters that erode
their channels through the reeds,
and I feel a warmth that infiltrates
as gradually I come to be
the silence that the curlew punctuates;
the world in me is mine
as the world in you is yours,
even the remotest twinkle of light,
beyond all this, all is alone and one.


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