Brittany Together, Driving Westward
At world's end we traced the ocean's curve,
both attracted to peninsulas, the ledge, the lip,
around pink granite sculpted holy stones,
where we might make our wishes and slip free.
All our forefathers pulled us to this sea,
to this pilgrimage to grave and well,
you with no trophies as we tailed our celtic gene,
me plundering a pebble, a memory, a shell.
As evening gloamed, in drizzled Morlaix we drank the happy beer,
plunged in a gloom we could not lift that day,
and roamed where saline blurred our view,
across the inner heath-land road, a parting in the air.
And drawn to the sea again, whose clean horizon
makes our union seem a finite and an infinite place.
© Jacqueline Mézec