Close by the gardener, in drizzle, pulls armfuls of montbretia,
discards all that brightness, then rakes the gravel

with a shush like sea on shingle. The morning’s milky,
sea-haar eclipsing the meadows and stonewalls

right down to the shore where, out beyond the Cape,
the as-yet-undivided waters hold all our imaginings: a jostle

of rocks and reefs and shipwrecks, chimera
of mermaid, dolphin, seal. Nothing between us and America

except something of last night’s shootings washing in
on every slap and tremor of tide, threatening to dislodge

us all. But still the world is beautiful. But still.
What is there to do but believe this, put one foot

in front of the other, keep ourselves open
and kind? So much depends on this.

Roselle Angwin
Illustration Nick Victor

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