Speak of Tethys,
Panthalassa, Iapetus,
Now on mountain tops,
or subducted, long ago.

Fly our rich North Atlantic,
or the vast, plastic, Pacific,
Indian, Arctic,
Here for a while…

Entirely white,
I’ve flown most of these,
punctuated only by the black point
of my mind’s eye.

but of all the Oceans we know
The best cannot be seen:
Waters kept from the Sun, beneath ice, a globe entire;
Europa, Deep Blue Moon.



Part 1: Outgoing

A clicking of mud
as the water drains
Slowly out to sea

Estuary, reed clad
whispering in the wind
Theropod spor on the flats

Man’s needs – cranes, chimneys
easy access to offload
Changes the landscape

But oaks survive,
and birds too
and small things – unnoticed

There is but one rock, in
this uncertain ground.  I sit there
and have a beer.

Part 2: Incoming

In the fens, I am
Seated under oak, serene
Incense surrounds me

Complicated growth
Adorns the bark, lichens and such
Intricate, simple.

A path presented,
There is a choice, to follow
or now make my own

A decision made
Just then the Sun comes out, so,
figure what’s next!

A ship sailing by
framed by the reeds, it’s floating
on a sea of green.