‘Of Being’, a Poem by Féilim James

A form of positive loss
I find amongst the moss and grass,
The algaed pools, the clustered mass
Of rocks, the umber gloss

Of seal-heads on the silver swell
Of sea, the boisterous gale —
I find, in the face of nature hale,
A loss that serves us well.

In nature, we are lost, must face
This lostness as a constant fact,
Or feel what thought has always lacked
A sense of home in space,

A solace set apart from thought
Outside of logic slick,
Of comfort in the burning tick
Of being, nothing sought.

Image: @andytrvn

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