The clown of thorns and I made lofty peace;
sunblind quarrels tripped at first rock base,
fell flat in the sand below a dozen barefoot years.
We shared flowers, then, impossible and bright,
gleaned endurance from the rocks,
wondered at the spines of life and our tenacity.

Clearing space for the gulls to scream
was knife-edge easy, way up there.

The horizon’s salty line stayed silent though
we tried to make room for that too.
Perhaps I was distracted, pushed it away
for sweeping curve of wing and wave.
Perhaps I loved so gently in the trysty gorse
that time was saved for ours and now.