Lizzy Green
Abergele, June 22nd 2004
I squint at the sea
strips of blue,
radii
colouring an iris.
I squat on a stone
and cannot smell the salt.
It’s wrapped its scent inside
the seaweed bulb I pop
to free myself.
The sea is engrossed
in grinding
complex currents
and unfolding cones
of white wave foam.
My inefficient memory
paints the face
I yearn for.
A seaweed sliver
squeaks through my fi ngertips
and skids away like an eel.
I kneel at the wash,
sand stubbles my skin.
A thin-curled wave fells my castle.
I begin to build a new one.
Page(s) 24
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