Thirty years ago, I’m sure you lifted
your eyes from her shore, and your gaze
drifted to this rock on the mainland
where I stand remembering you –

as today the marina, when my husband
glimpsed the Innisfree, a boat he knew
long ago. Someone had made her new,
polished the years from her gleaming bow.

He fell silent as she pulled out to sea.
Just like that I think you’d know me now
as if the ocean, the islands, the sun between,
and all we love more had never been.