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