A Small Spec of Hope

I am like that woman

shawl-clad against the harsh wind,

standing on the shoreline

above shear-rocked cliff

waiting for a small spec

of hope

to appear above the grey waters

of the horizon.

Day in day out

time passes as slowly 

as the erosion of the stone

that is my heart.

The gulls circle, taunt me.

‘He will never come’ they cry.

I cover my ears with frozen hands,

tears dry salty on my cheek.

And when nothing appears,

no glimmer pierces the darkness,

you never come,

I will know

that the world is indeed flat 

and there is only bitter salt.