You can’t catch the clouds in a net,
roll them up and stuff them in a cupboard,
like a winter duvet.
You can’t shut the wind off at source,
switch off the fan, and stop the draught.
If you try to find the beginning of the wind
you will only meet yourself again.
You can’t stop the sea coming in
and slowly eating the soft earth,
for it will only find another door.
The tides will come and go, deep green water,
hungry for entrance,
or a shining expanse of mud,
dark and deceptive.
The lifetimes we live are not forever,
however much we deny death.
The winds and the sea will see us go.
© Gillian Peall