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Beaches, a sonnet by Linda Jackson: Poems and Stories of Love: Glasgow Writers

The Beaches  

(Linda Jackson)

Waving glass on the surface of eyes

Myopia does add qualities

            Like immediacy, no perspective.

The Bay of Findhorn in winter light

curves up onto my lens and the near sky.

There is only a vague division

An Impressionist suggestion of separation

Low sheen blues and high expanse

 melt into each other. – Almost.

In the big freeze, I am not cold

But swaddled from my heart of gold

to the hand touching yours

as we follow through to the beach.

Ahead on the left, a scaffold of trees

Mount up on the Culbin forest

A look out to my beloved Black Isle

On trees deep and growing from the Lady dune.

           And then among the million stones

            An aboriginal design takes me

            My eyes look on this dark–blue water

            Smooth, rolling waves.

            My memory sees the turquoise-blue Pacific

            Last beach walk till now.

            And I take this stone to me;

          And I give you the shell from South Durras.

For now, distance is relative

       Beauty – absolute.

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