Saturday, 14 May 2011


Like the shimmering of gorse
behind evening flames,
Existence fraying like
childhood memory.

I’m pouring my eyes
upon the sea,
Painting a salt-ridge
around my boots

of gnarling leather;
Summoning the vastness
to reconcile what he
did – beneath the waves,

against the battered
sediment. It’s nice
to know the world is
soft at the edges.

No comments:

Post a Comment