Skerry
The boat’s now
gliding
towards the
skerry,
a sea-set island
its shores green
banding.
Wild flowers grow
here for
no eyes intended
stand unfamiliar
and watch me
landing.
My heart becomes
like
a fabled garden
with flowers the
same as
the ones I’m
greeting.
They talk together
and whisper
strangely,
with nods and
smiling
like children
meeting.
Perhaps long since
I
have here existed
as white spiraea
in first
perfection.
I recognise now
that far-off
fragrance,
and tremble
slightly
in recollection.
I close my
eyelids,
a distant memory
towards my
shoulder
my head is
drawing.
The night grows
denser
about the island,
the sea alone
roars –
Nirvana’s roaring.
To see the original 1904 poem, go to here
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