Our revels now are ended, the dancing
steps I never mastered, once more
un-stepped – wind howls from across
the breakers – the child tucked in is
as the breath the storm forgot
to haul away; let it sleep, let it sleep.
Take it, softly, to the car, then join
me on the wide seat up front
(it’s oyster coloured once again).
Put up the house and let the sea alone
be home to breakers… Let its foam
hiss on the beach. Leave it, leave it
licking lifeless sand. Forget how
the salt wind pickled our discontent.
We’re leaving for another life
in another land, on other lavish sand.
But let that last trunk stand there, simply
on the drive-way. We won’t take
that trunk. It’s packed with all our pain.