Horizons

Horizons

The call of the sea.
Invokes a longing
for wandering
horizons

juxtaposed against
turbulent lust
for a land
where skies kiss the hills
kiss the sea
kiss the sand.

Kiss my land.

I fly as a gull
but return,
unable to shake off
this thirst
for blackened pearl cheeks
of dank sided cliffs;
rugged scree interspersed
with the magic carpet ride
of campion and
the battle squawk
of sea hungry
birds.

I spy limpid pale
of sea glass glints and
anaemic yellow headed plants
that cling,
limpet-like
to gaping mouths of
hungry crags.

I cannot cast off
this urge
to stay behind;
to swallow
myths of other lives
not lived
on silhouettes of other cliffs
that drift,
mirage-like,
on waving horizons.