DON’T FORGET

Don’t forget
to send me a wave or two
from the other side.

Just dip
the pulse
in your long fingers
to the churn
of Manhattan.

It won’t be instant
but of course I’ll sense it
arriving in
at our own west side.

MOORING

I’m lying with you, a mile inland,
under rain that drills the roof-sheets
and storms all chinks in the flashings.
The sealed window-unit isn’t.
The peats, still out, are wasting in wet.
Sean and Ben are sound, along the ridge.

There happens to be a power-cut
and there’s a depth of singing height
above the weather – but we’re not

moored to anything I’ve seen
sink or rise on a tested line.
We’ll hold together tonight.

Varying States of Grace (Polygon,1989)