Written on Board MV Coruisk
My mind is still caught in the wind-hurled walk
down to the ferry – rain lashing my coat.
I drew it all into my body – wet knees, wet gloves,
watching the downpour whip the shining tarmac;
black tongue of the road.
As we depart from Dunoon, the waves hurl around us.
The dimmer switch of morning light gradually brightens,
small flashes of a distant shore
break through the rain-haze.
Before long the boat shudders as we turn
into Gourock.
The waves are calmer now
and moving away from us
like the concentric circles of a thrown stone.
But still I carry the gales, the rain
around inside of me as we draw into the pier;
though the waves are gentle now,
moving like a multitude of pigeons
feeding together.
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