Enclosed within these sea-struck walls,
Pressed together with our words
Pressing against each others’ words.
Those surging words are not the sea
But their heart brims over;
The surge of them sweeps all along.
Swept in this same boat,
We drink a draught to move us on;
Unsteady on our feet we steer
Ourselves in echoes of photographs on the walls.
An island in a stretch of sea;
A risk taken and rewarded;
A gift given and gathered in
And pressed in and raised up,
Rising ever higher on the swell
Of the Manor House Hotel.
22 May 2004
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