Inspired by the book The Strange Voyage of Donald Crowhurst, by Buddhist ideas of impermanence, and by reading the diaries of a friend’s sea voyage (NL).

Seven days or maybe nine
Groundless rumours, heavy wine

Foreign words in a foreign clime
This time yesterday, local time

Music in snatches, like rags on a tree
Barely remembered, only the sea

Sun is high and sun is white
Hanging fire and fading sight

Waking up as evening falls
Rolling floor and shifting walls

Roll with the punches, embrace the disease
Clinging to nothing, only the sea

Reaching out for solid ground
Ever hopeful, always drowned

Reading your diaries, looking for me
Maybe remembered, only the sea

© Norman Lamont 1987