(A Wish)

There will be peace and an end to traveling,

the colour of ocean under a polar sky,

solid as mountains, to bear the brunt

of storms that can no longer trouble

the sleeper in the wind-raked earth.

Time will be glacial, patient as icebergs 

where no rumours whisper, no duty calls,

the strong heartbeat of spring and its flowers:

the tides’ turn, the snow’s fall.

This poem ends Rough Spun to Close Weave which is still available on line. Further samples and signed copies from www.Liamguilar.com.