Alnmouth From: The Blue Lonnen (Jardine Press 2007) Something unassuagable about an estuary. Black ooze, oily, Clinging. Dragging east, Miles of cloud rubble. Acres of sea-purslane. Redshank, dunlin, Camouflaged. Dissemblance. Chains of footprints Snaking through mud. Loops Of old rope. A curlew Letting go its rinsed notes. Abandonment. And, slowly filling with water, A boat Rotten beyond rescue, its anchor-chain Stiff; paint, lichen, Flaking from its timbers, revealing Strong, clear lines. What matters Is sunk, uncovered And sunk. On the far bank, a train, A straight line on the heugh, Hauling its troubles south. And between them, the river Slipping from green fields, Scots pines, gables – Pink, blue, terracotta – From the gull-squabble, Towards something sparer: Wormcasts. Ripples. On the far side of the water, Walls, roofless. Gleaming bent grass. Its surface wind-hatched, stippled with light, The river Is letting go At the end of its life, an old man Catching sight of what matters – That muffled roar, The stern white line of the breakers.   Katrina Porteous <back