Ardmore Bay Hearts may be harvested at such a place, between the sea and the dishevelled land Where in a cove an otter carouses in the kelp, ribboning itself in glory. Oblivious to us watchers Celebrants from some other church. Who with the grey cowled crows sidle between black rocks scavenging in shells that once were souls. At the foot of heathered altars rising ever skyward crowned in gorse stands proud against the American wind. While the sand, O, the...
