Atlantic Poem by Donatien Moisdon

Suckle on rocky shore, beloved Atlantic,
bellow through ghostly fog at tipsy fishermen,
howl for hours on gorse and broom and heathered cliffs.

As for me, I giggle under your moist embrace
and I hate you, you scavenger of childhood dreams.

Whiffs of infinity, and all because of you,
had invaded my soul, fired my ambition.

With salty, chapped skin and with burning throat
I will, one day, show up, cold, naked and alone.

Eyes black with death, I will, in the brine of your sand,
press the grinning remains of my life and my skull.