High Tide

August 7, 2019

‘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 doubt.




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