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Peter Abbs

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A Small Prometheus

 

And I wake on this jutting rock in the sea’s waves,
Far North, somewhere, swept by alternating tides,
Criss-crossed by cormorants, choughs, scavenging gulls –

Their cries tear open my skull till there’s silence –
Arcs of fire, vapour trails, irradiated darkness –
A huge cathedral of godless air with no redress;

And I fear the bird foretold that’s still to fly,
Instrumental beak, singed wings, flat shadow. Unready
For the final reckoning, I scan the sea’s extremity

For the first sign of that inconceivable violation.
Yet even so impossible time comes curving in:
Spray on the wave’s back, paradise in a sensual second.

And what are these things that cling to my legs,
Stick to my salt skin? Life’s random matter, tenacious
                                                                          hopes,
Opening their turquoise shells, spreading their strange
                                                                  star shapes.

 

Page(s) 28

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