Wednesday, June 02, 2010

poem draft about seashore at night; pictures of seashore in the day.

aberdeen beach at bridge of don, early evening, may 2010

the waves at night come like

small pale hands that spread

their fingers, soothe the sand:

the sea a grandmother i never knew

who puts the shore to bed: turns

the rocks over and over again,

worry polishing stones in shaken

palms, smoothing a coverlet

of froth. in the lessening light

her hair feathers out, white winter

cirrus, frost on the marram-grass,

prayers in a soft littoral whisper.

stand there, barefoot, sand beneath

a cupped sole, tides sucked up

by the shelled mouth of the moon,

each wave like a memory,

remembering comes inland:

skims cerebral ridges in the sand,

a piece of driftwood, inscribed with

runic toothmarks of that old

golden retriever, ever rushing

out & fetching as the waves recede,

reside. she hums a tune you

don’t recognize, like waves it’s

ever the same, it’s never the same

break twice: creeping waters will

comfort, endanger, wash

mussel shells lying butterflied,

their split spines salt-stuck, haunted

tide-marks lace your legs. but hush,

now, hush, her hands brushing

your brow, pebbles trace

each trailing thought to

renew, erase, recreate.