(22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

At Eaglehawk Neck

She moves within
The rapid dream
That seeks to spill
Her tangled skein,
And touches others
Barely seen
Who shadow-pass
Another’s pain.

The waters lap
Her anchored feet,
The forests turn her
To the shore,
The whirling tide’s
A skirling scream
That spins her helpless
To the floor.

By some embittered
Candlelight
Her pen describes
The blackest line,
To tear the slender
Thread of night
In some despite
Of Valentine!

24 May 1979

by David Lewis Paget

Comments (1)

Great words and play. Short but telling. Thanks.