Roselle Angwin
On the Beach
1 ocean
the sea speaks green here
and mauve and mussel-blue
her arms, her foam-flecked lips
her words are rock, are flick
of fish, sway of wrack, whale-song -
one long syllable, vast as night
2 shore
I have come back to the language
of stone and sand; my voice
laid out like the ribbon horizon
drinking the sky. The footprints
are mine; the words unimportant.
It is time.
The stones climb the hill;
winter peppers the shore.
Wait for moonrise; first star
and a single curlew piping the night.
3 sky
the night of falling stars
one perfect round quartz pebble
a syllable, a god’s eye
clear as early love
we bring it home, a memory -
all night on the windowsill
it sings its pure white note
and outside all the sky, listening
Page(s) 139
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