The wind had a memory,
It told me of things that had never been said,
Storms of history, ancient runes, broken, dismembered,
Then thrown into my face in spume. ‘Saat.’
The sickle edged moon etched,
Acid formed in the backdrop of my world.
The Atlantic sea,
Stripped my flesh to the bone.
No caul to protect my boat.
‘Saat’ is my flavour.
Sharp wind drowns the shore
I cannot stand anymore
Boat stalks broken,
Cold bed of fishes.
‘Midden nakit’ – stark naked
I endure the darts of death throes.
My eye that could see followed the trajectory
Of feathers torn.
Is this the story of my demise?
Grand Fly Away.
Outer and inner weather changed.
The vortex led my craft to shelter.
Down on my knees
Singing my song