A Sign of Permanence
Descending the Heads of Ayr on an autumn morning The sea gunmetal, pale the uncut barley, Shy as a man from jail avoiding parley Lightly he looked in where the great sky turning Deployed its gulls gliding from cloud to cloud, His oldest images, an idle crowd.
Fished from the air, from nowhere, from a vision
Long frozen under silence, rocks grew solid. In this awakened vision the waves volleyed Over the rocks, collision and erosion Rhythmical ground bass to the choral wind Vibrating up the needle of his mind.
An old head back among its windy spaces He searched the sand most studiously for nothing, Picked up a stone and kept it for a plaything, Noted the low trees twisted in their places By the prevailing wind they could not miss And felt a sense of permanence in this.
SYDNEY TREMAYNE
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