into the green

Étretat

poems of privacy which are ripped from terra firma and put into
we must, cliff-side, make allowances for the dramatic
in the charged white
and amongst low anchored clouds
and the sea's quiet welter
a wave's organic agitation
if i have heart, then a mountain has heart,
if i have eyes then together we look on
perched on chalk hips
and if I have heights, then, our heights
higher
is it just me, i ask spindly cliff cabbages, is it, the sea bleached plaited grass, me
or is spring specifically lacking this year?
is spring a bit sad? less about arrivals than moon and sun pre planning?
but if i have patience,
we have patience
So,
Patience!