The Salt Wind Remembers
In dreams I go to Cyprus still,
where dusk leans softly on the sea,
and every path I used to know
returns like grief returning me.
The sea lies dark beneath the moon,
its breath a low and ancient cry,
as if the years I left behind
still drift like ashes through the sky.
A five-year-old runs barefoot there,
through olive shade and climbing thyme,
with pockets full of shells and leaves,
and sunlight tangled in his time.
I stop to watch the blackbirds stir,
to trace bright beetles in the stone,
and in the hush of bloom and breeze
the living earth becomes his own.
I wake before I reach the door,
before the lost years call me home,
and all that’s left is salted air,
a name, a silence, and the foam.
David Harker lives in Whitland, South West Wales, with Helena his gorgeous wife. He has been writing poetry and flash fiction since 2012, and loves the way the written word can evoke feelings and emotions.
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