UNSTRUNG

Here I am at last, settled on my Island porch

after taking days to leave my life behind:

The over-tended gardens of rosemary, delphinium,

thyme;

The steady clamor of pet ducks and telephones and

mail;

The crawling mind-clutter and crazy flap-clatter of

just too many connections.

I’m fitting torn edges to new here on my Island porch.

Low-flying gulls baptize me with new-wet wings;

My pulse aligns itself with booming salt surf;

My awareness floods with crossbills chittering,

The songs of white-throat, waxwing and warbler,

And scents of rugosa, rockweed, sunned spruce.

This Island porch–my Avalon–it holds me;

Its blessed mists rise to enfold me safe

from encroaching voices now rising, then fading,

down my gravel path.

I’m responding now to simpler calls instead,

like those of stomach, heart and bed.

I’ve come unstrung.

Sharon Salmon