journal of a writing man
Work in Progress
"Walking the bay road"
Walking the bay road, following the curve,
mists move from sea to hills, pooling salt marshes,
hide this world, shift, and reveal another,
apply a wash to the charcoal, wet into wet.
A Wellsian transformation overtakes the sky
opens a window to a place of weeping towers,
of towers, groaning, falling, never to rise.
Pacing pavements overlay the path
not quite matching its geometry,
laying, underlaying, overlaying,
questioning the footing as levels change.
Mist ghosts press down from the hills,
meet those from the sea-borne towers,
move in a noisy silence across the road.
John Bailey
Somerset, Nov 11 2001
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