I sat as close as one could
to the tide line, not being
aware of which way it was
moving and with no moon
nor debris at hand I had
to wait and see if I got wet.

Suddenly, a Boomerang in
carved aboriginal symbols
washed up beside me.
Surely not I exclaimed, it
was hardly possible that
The Gulf Stream brought
it all the way from Sydney.

Twelve hours later I came
back, the level had changed,
gull and seaweed concoction
gave scent to the sound of air.
I etched something on the
throwing arm and watched
the farewell as a Gael Force
from the hills of Connemara
declined its wish to return.

Then, as a hungry Gannet
it swooped both wings into
The Atlantic surf ,with its
celtic scroll and the words
we discovered inside my
mothers wedding ring.