Where I Caught You

 

Where I caught you: the Cornish shore,

where cliffs stand worn, the sea still roars,

your face lit gold in sinking light,

salt cast your wind-blown hair in flight,

as evening pooled along the floor.

The circle widens to the score,

the ocean near the tea we pour,

it opens like a iris bright

where I caught you.

Unsalted butter, ink that soars,

a pen that writes as thought explores,

waves press Liszt's hands upon the night,

his echoes drawn in shifting white,

a revenant of tides before,

where I caught you.