Loneliness greets me at the Ericeira shell’s mouth. My mock
Down from the cliffdrop,
surf hurls noise at the rocks, breaks its own scalloped
mosaics, as it contours shoreline ridges.
Linked-hand, two strangers on the sand’s ebbing heat. Their feet
pattern makeshift paths ahead of the tide.
A child runs after.
No sign of the rivers which sourced this palette.
Evening light folds to night ocean. Leaving my portholed
outlook to stand alone on the beach, my brittle-boned frame
shrinks in its soft enamel, and colder black left by the blue’s
wake. My stars here set so far asunder – last splashes of light in
a sky that’s dried-up.
I skim a shell at the waves.Darkness engulfs it. I imagine its echoes, drowning, as the sea
reclaims its emptiness.
Sarah James (from Be[yond] Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2013)