Posted in poetry

Slipping West

When the morning fog dissipates
and I stare hard at the horizon,
I can make out, I think, the cutting edge,
shimmering, well beyond the range
of any spells I’ve learned,
slipping west at the speed of a clipper.

Author:

I’ve retired after a career teaching law. I divide my time now between Athens, Georgia, in the States and the south coast of Ireland.