Over a gathering harbour hushed with waiting
the flag grips its tall immovable
against your pull, ceaseless wanderer.
Carry away the brittle leaves scattering
about my head. Deliver me of the stone
as I lean into your push.
But you, knower of the grey ocean,
instead you bring this knocking of the iron
ring on steel.
I could turn from the call of the cliffs,
but their slip will always be
at my back.
