When I am lost, I find Another Place,
and, with a hundred iron men, look to the sea.
Some stand determined, high on pedestals
while some are sinking slowly to their knees,
and weathered by the turns of storm and wave,
we deteriorate at differing degrees.
Sharing the rippled air and February sun,
we watch distant ships and seabirds moving on.
(A short poem scribbled impulsively after another visit to Another Place, Crosby, 25th February 2018)
“They were all on a level and those closest to the shore were buried as far as their knees.”http://www.antonygormley.com/sculpture/item-view/id/230