I am not a snowflake
nor a goddess
nor something between.
on that scale.
a swimmer in the darkness
not drowning (yet)
not waving (ever)
further and further into the darkness,
trailing phosphorescence from my fingertips,
like eddies of starlight,
of whether to turn back for shore
or keep swimming.
Inspired by David and Rob.
And I’m intending incommensurate and inordinate here to be read in the old/mathematical sense of disorganised, not fitting properly into an array.
All night the wind has roared
rolling through the trees
with a sound like waves,
and I wake with a sea-craving.
So I pour a handful of cowries
from the abalone shell where they have nestled,
since the last was added two summers ago.
Rubbing my thumb
across a smooth domed back,
the ridges of its aperture,
I remember the touch of salt water,
its smell and taste,
and try to hold it inside me
as it wells in my eyes.
I am grateful that we’ve been so little affected by covid compared to others, even in Australia, but I so miss the sea.
A dark shadow flies towards me –
too fast, too much intent
for another clump of seaweed.
Passing close, the ray pays me no heed,
as it soars below, rippling as it sweeps past. Continue reading
The wind in the trees roars like waves
rising and breaking, tumbling,
rolling onto sand,
and ebbing away. Continue reading