Sweeney at sea

by Deborah Moffatt

All this time out here at sea,
how long I do not know,
years, months, weeks,
or just one day.
 
But no, I’m not lost. 

That swallow, though, flying high
up there in a wide blue sky
yet never far from land:
he’ll guide me home.

I have never been lost.

I can smell it: the sandy shore,
the smoky fire, hearth
and heart burning,
sparks flying.

I’ve strayed, often enough.

Still, I don’t trust the swallows
flying low before a storm,
fallen shadows, omens
of trouble to come.

Better astray; here I’ll remain.

She’ll wait for me only so long.
Let her keep the swallows
in the byre, the fire  
in her heart.