Thirty Pieces of Silver

I have fall needs the same as anyone
to batten down, shore up, lay in a store
of fuel and foods, natural cargoes of coal
and the grey salt cod.

The boats ride their own black harbor,
not one is mine
and today I have left off caring
I could buy the boats
and traffic the boats support.

I have sought new lies to live by,
but the one fact is
go any direction you like
and you come to sea

and before that to white antinomies,
to hems of sand
where the garment frays out
and unravels, is knit again
to fit new figures new shapes.

The sand is pure
through a process of many washings;
the dye comes clear
be it even of purple or black
or the dark of blood
waves spread in a thinning shadow.

I distrust these waves.
I sit at Land's End in the sunshine.
The air is sharp
and full of the rattle of leaves.
I must make a choice.

My worries are as constant as the gulls.