Captive

I know that certain lichen,

celadon, crispy, white-bellied…

still cling to safe,

sure hosts.

I know that seals still lollop

 on distant bell-buoys,

 rocked to sleep by crude,

 steady tolling.

I know that a weather-worn bench

 fashioned from a fallen tree

 still looks out across the channel

 where salt-sprayed ferries pass.

I know of a wandering path layered mute

 with pine needles

 hiding knobbly, woody roots…

 ready to surprise.

 I know that here, where I sit,

 I am tethered to it all…

 this regenerative earth…

 profoundly knowing, promisingly clear.

by Judy Prescott