Time to Drift
I am becalmed, the wind so quiet
I lift my eyes to scan where sea meets sky
a smudged chalky line on frustration’s sea
which I sought to escape in haste.
I take in my sails, and drift.
Sea eddys pull and push the hull,
gentle waves slop against the sides.
I strain my eyes, search empty blue skies,
I avert my eyes and ponder:
It is hard to be still on an ocean drift
An Geadh Fiadhaich unseen, for I presumed
she would always lead upon the wing.
Now in forced rest I drift.
As days pass the hint breeze teases me,
opening up gaps - crusty accretions
of presumption’s eruptions in my innerscape
seen by the eye of Dhè,
veiled by my mind’s eye.
I lower my eyes into the ancient deep,
unfathomable depths unseen, unknown,
where the deep calls unto deep,
and I enter a liminal existence
beyond language and silence,
where An Geadh Fiadhaich waits
to redeem presumption’s innerscape.
© Craig A Roberts, 2025
Scots Gaelic Terms:
An Geadh Fiadhaich: The Wild Goose poetic name of the Holy Spirit, untamed by humanity.
Dhè: God
Ìosa Crìost: Jesus Christ
Photo: AdobeStock/ Author
