Anniversary

Soon, as the sun rises from the sea
on the dawn of my birth day,
I will visit my father's grave again.

Not for me the long gravelled tread
between green embedded marbled stones,
For Tim lies not in his allotted slot of earth.

So at six this morning as I cross the current
from Liverpool into the Atlantic
at the very place we scattered his ashes,

I will drink and spill my Jamaican libation
to his dead man's chest and his sailor soul.