Craig


 In the Shallop of the Shell



On this beach the figure sets feet
calmly into powdered coral, silicates,
horned shells and fragments of wood.
Here, on this shore, under webbed
sea grape leaves time feels, smells
as it did years ago. Sand has the same
lustre and sudden dull crescents when
blue tongues, lightly foamed with white
lick quickly inland.

The same when boots
and sea dirty horse
strode to a meeting
the agenda
plunder.

Brown feet stood soft here
and gave way, gave way
to white and black
their whispering
and clashing
rippled over the sighing cane
mingled with
the arriving
and escapes
of those who moved
through the arches
of this sea.

Cathedrals, stained glass and years
nestle mustily in sculpted
corners like algae on rocks.
Wooden pews remain straight-
backed defying the sour notes
of history sounding just past
the door. Laid to rest now
under wingless angels and urns
garlanded with stone roses.