I shall walk on that shoreline
until I become a dot, and there,
crushed between sky and sand
submit to the horizontal line
I shall lie flat on my back
A spread-eagled Universal Man
with sea shells for eyes.
and for ear plugs; the howling wind
I shall hug the earth with my back, let the pull
of the spinning globe erase gigabytes of you
and with closed eyes replace them
with mysteries from below the tide
I shall pluck from the ancient silt,
rich hued bottles, alchemies of detachment,
then clean and align my new satellites,
a compass of seven North
And your smile shall come again.
Its radiance shall melt my compass,
burn all of my paths,
my unwritten maps.
With thanks to G. Ó Domhnaill for permission to share.