Because relationships are strange...

Text by Carol Ann Duffy
I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird.

We text, text, text
our significant words.

I re-read your first,
your second, your third,

look for your small xx
feeling absurd.

The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.


Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.

I need to be near the water!

Thoughts today are drifting west from my little island to a friend on the Eastern Seaboard.

I've been thinking about times spent by various oceans and seas. Beach days, children days, stormy wave-tossed days, days for sitting and thinking.

So - I'm offering this little poem by Billy Collins

Walking across the Atlantic

I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach

before stepping onto the first wave.

Soon I am walking across the Atlantic

thinking about Spain,

checking for whales, waterspouts.

I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.

Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.

But for now I try to imagine what

this must look like to the fish below,

the bottoms of my feet, appearing, disappearing.