6  Culbone Lodge: Joan Cooper


Paid for like all dreams
By an unending loss of spirit
Paid into the treeless dark

Payment is vast, more
Than can be held in any one life
Or within any familiar horizon

At this edge where the water falls down and ends
Purpose breaks
Loss is what will not be paid for

The sea itself a dead space
Just one fold sheltering
Briefly like dirt

There is so much that isn't living
Exacts a payment
For this brief privilege

Kneeling down in the sunlight to feed tame ducks
To rest from creation and care
The stream and leaves glint and shimmer

The shadows' coolness beckons
And the fading of flowers
And the fine, fly-laden dust