Islander
and paddling from dinghy to shore
remembering sailors
who wrote about shores and oceans green
rolling plains
touching those sentences
looking at strata
running my fingers along lines and discontinuities
these places are marginalia rising from their own myth
creative
with monsters and seabirds and islanders
I once pulled up my anchor
and found, embedded in wave and strand and kelp,
an old lobster pot, broken, no longer a trap.
Today, I returned with poetry between my toes
First published in Fast Fibres 7 (2020)
I like this! Is it by Martin Porter?