ON THE ISLAND OF MULL
Having burned
all
our islands
There was only one left. And we went
There-on the ferry-avoiding
Various friends connected with old disasters.
When we arrived, the island
Was empty. We were carrying our belongings
In plastic bags, and talked
Of a sea-side house
That would never belong to us. Looked
For a place to stay. A sea place
With a bed, where we could lie down
And joke. Love each other. Smoke. Sink
In that bed, performing the Wreck
Of the Hesperus
On a bed that didn't belong to us.
But there was not one bed.
Not one house. And remember this?
We found white sea dollars
Under the very white sand.
And we slept
in
the sand.
The fire-flies scared us to dig,
Deep and make our hole for sleeping in.
I remember your sleep
As
I sang to you. We were cold and you
Were breathing as
if
in pain
Since we had run
To the island of Mull, knowing no-one,
Only our own names. In the morning
That strange silent wind came. I woke up
And saw a fisherman-was it a joke?–
Holding a bleeding gull in his hand.
