Point Wild
Fresh snow on dark rock. Breaking cloud.
Etched walls, lifted from the floor of the sea.
Sea stacks and pinnacles rising like worn weapons,
Held in the hands of the waves above the cold grey ocean.
Waters suddenly torn by hard winds
Ripping down broken blue white glaciers.
A sudden shift and they blow now off the Drake,
Which waits our passage.
Boulders, breakers, a lonely camp, vanished into years past.
Moments now, in the wild, in the wind, in that place,
Are an interlude from comfort to comfort.
We reach into stories, into reverie, into what imagination can find.
And fail, utterly,
To touch the fear, the joy and the fierce truth of those lives.
