Each cardinal point
Tells of Wasteland.
Primordial sand –
shifting under a frozen wind,
hissing with voices of spirits
shipwrecked on this skeleton coast,
rimmed by a glittering line of sea.
Here castaway fragments and relics
are spat after decades adrift
from the blue-throated Ocean
and maw of Estuary.
Husks of things rustle
with the dry scuttle of grains
at the foot of crumbling dunes –
Earth’s ebbing with each tide to feed
the ever-hungry sea.
Living footfalls trace this place of endings
with crunch of empty shell and crisp-brittle
crack of lost urchins:
Calcium Carbonate – chalk to dust
in a driftwood boneyard
where desolate roots reach, beseech
the pitiless sky, like the arms of a crazy woman;
a dinosaur rib-cage in each whitened heap.
But with each turn of a gypsy moon’s
round face, all is washed and re-framed.
Shell innards polished to spirals of pinkish pearl,
Pastel-shaded plastic tears pepper the edge of the world.
You see the broken beauties, pull them free
Fill your pockets and gaze on the skittish sea
That calls your salted blood.
Though you try to stay anchored
to land-stranded love
You’re already away;
New shores to be found;
The fall and rise of the Shearwater’s realm,
The call of the storm,
The lure of the helm.