the six mile drive to the Island shop
along the coast, past fields of sheep
and cattle. Past the small stone church
surrounded by the graveyard, the one
you will be buried in. Over the causeway
which in winter can be treacherous.
The sea and sky dominate, kindly,
as you drive on through a forever
changing six miles there and six miles back,
and always reminded of your mortality
twice in the one trip.