A man. Held by water, salt. And layers of rock, igneous, sea-
weathered pink. No other being. Just one body in rock pooling sea
between dark veins in this slab, he is supine, stone warmed. Yet, cooled by
an element that’s smoothed stone for eons. In the witch-seething sea
where hope’s a solid battle, stone speaks of endurance, blood and bone.
Of memory. Of time-aged battles with insistent pushing sea
at the core, at source of earth. Eras gone before left black scars on
cracked granite. And still, jagged edges rise from earth and shifting sea
where warp and weft blueness is sewing itself into sandy sea
that will rage again. Time spans. No blood or bone. Just stone. Pounding sea.
___________
Sandra Noel is a poet from Jersey enjoying writing about the ordinary in unusual ways. She has poems online and in print magazines and anthologies and has been longlisted, shortlisted and highly commended in competitions. Sandra’s first collection will be published in 2024 by Yaffle Press.