The Sea

The philosopher loves the forest

and perhaps we twig what he means:

more than just praise for the deer and the trees.

Where you can hide, you can also be free.

But nothing is like the sea.

 

The cliff edge I say is the heartland,

leaving middle of nowhere behind.

Where the sun melts into the water,

you can't be lost

because you've arrived.

 

Here, we believe, we can find our peace,

home beside the danger and chance,

where life began

and creaky sailings 

took us off to freedom at last.

 

The thinker lies buried in his forest,

and I'll lay down

a woodland flower wreath; 

but the wind in the leaves is still loveliest

when it sounds most like the sea.