I threw into the sea today
all that I know of poetry
and pundits, cutting edge
and means to ends that
do not interest me

then turned away
and while I trek this land
now featureless without
the borderguards and ushers—
Mind your step!—who monitor
and fret, the gorgons of a grinding
politic blow loud and fierce across
my shoulder blades, their arguments
compounding or appearing to, against
all evidence my heart displays just
out of reach that all is well

and what I see
the tor just now that’s
coming into view is not,
as you might think, some
vain imagining. The tugging
at my earlobe known as hope
it brought me here, and when of
inland play I’ve had my fill, the gyroscope
of which I’m made will spin and lift me
toward the ocean’s edge where all that
I have cast awaits in fleets, the new world
ripe to populate—and me, at last, I’m
tall enough to reach and step aboard.


© Elaine Stirling, 2014