I watched Rupert Murray’s documentary, The End of the Line, about over-fishing recently. It’s a reasoned, shocking expose of an environmental nightmare to which so many of us seem to be blind. http://endoftheline.com/film
It hurt so much this poem came scalding out of me.
Could have been so different
Held between stone and air
restlessness-
which from far
steadies to a vast ripeness of blue
silvered grey, black-backed turquoise-
clasps deep the last fins that
for eternities carried
the sun’s reflex.
Life scaled
radiated
multiplied.
Perfect in place
but not in time
for lines come
ever more firmly
ever more hungry
to scrape, to bleed the sea.
Till memory only shades
the mighty streams.
Then retracts,
into deeper
restlessness.
kj27jul10
