remember this i whisper
gazing at green leaves
drenched in the light
of August’s last morning
the way I remember sailboats
rocking at anchor
a row of multicoloured beach huts
against the north Atlantic
the eerie pre-dawn cries
of Manx shearwaters
returning to their cliffs
the smell of a well-
loved pub
sitting across the table
from a life partner
commit this too
to memory and then
remember winter’s promise
of a ladder to the moon