We smelled the smoke in the pubs, gazed
At the peat fires, as if everything would
Last and nothing had changed. Words
Unspoken, suppressed, left in the dunes,
On beaches. Perhaps, you said,
There are journeys one goes alone, if we
Lived without time or need. But wherever
The roads went, ships arrived and I
Looked for your face in every port.
Horizons are but a perspective, ever in
A different light. You voice is parched, you said.
Come here and put your lips to glass or verse.
