High Tide

‘If a tree falls in a forest and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’. By way of George Berkeley [1685 to 1753] The tide of trees is in, up against the glass, Silence but for the drip of rain on stone As I wait here indoors for it to pass, Floating in the forest, we are alone. I am the gatepost, fern filled and mossed Paddling in grasses and rosebay willow herb, Empty, my old gates fallen and long lost, But which no storm can harm or disturb. Or I am the stove, where the light is green, Swimming in the shallows of leaf and tree, Witness to something only I have seen, And I rework Berkeley’s old philosophy. Are we in a an aquarium looking out, Or outside looking in; besieged by

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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