I am but a shell
For errant thought
A wax
A wane
A mouthful of full moons
Spiriting the wave
I am but a hope
A gasp of salt
A rise and swell
Adrift
And pulled ashore by faith
As darkness wanders round
It’s meaning
Sifts behind my eyes
Beneath my nails
I breathe the shadows
Rich and moist with tides
They whisper lives
They croon
Of loss
I savor what they tell
I am but a shell
The wind has dropped
Sun bleached
Sand peppered
Gull gulped
And tumbled raw
Exposed to hungry sea




Sara Mathews     March 2020
Leon Spilliarert / Belgium 1881-1946