Cliffwalk

Sometimes to get out I'd walk the headlands
from the Giant's Causeway to the long strand
at Runkerry. A sheep path foot-wide
traces the cliff edge. Gulls glide
west to glittering Inishowen. Clouds high
above tumble across a silent sky
spilling their pillowy shadows seaward
before rain.
Inland far as the eye can see
prim farms stand pinned and tucked
in Presbyterian silence. Damp beasts
hock-deep in muck graze dumbly
numbed to dour obedience.

I'd look for a spot on the ocean side
stretch out along the sheer cliff edge, tide
battering the basalt far below,
and watch entranced the dark and seething flow,
till easing back out of the blow
I'd lie face down in warm salt grass
sea pinks and harebells at my ears
and know I am autochthonous
spun from this wind, sprung from this soil.

Copyright © 2001 The President and Fellows of Harvard College.
All rights reserved. Comments. Last modified Thu, Sep 20, 2001.