by Amanda White

read by Nathan Beatty

Towards the edge of land,

a shifting, sleight of hand

from shell, stone, sand

to a wave’s first kiss.

Slow shanty beat

where sea and earth meet,

touch feet,

to lure in,

brave skin,

firm bone so real,

take hold, re-mold,

times tides trick, now and then, again, smooths a shore

to how and where it was before

And yet never more will be.

Back to the salty reaches,

the near-dry tongue-tied shallows,

a drowning light plays over and over its slippery selves,

reaching towards a firm ground and falling, flailing, floating away out of its depth further – and further – – and

Nothing personal

And so the sea sees not the same as seeing does from careless, ceaseless waves waving by then pulling down the here then gone and on and on to unheard, unseen, unfelt depths.

Nothing personal

Our song long-lost by sea slap sea, on, on, on, boundless bleeding blued waters moved by wind and moon and slithers of human intentions, forgetful only keeping true to time and tide; and tide and in time passing through.

 Nothing personal

Come closer

Closer still

To this edge.

The changing and unchanging, the kept and thrown newly smoothed roughness

Calm

Desiring all that is before you…

Possibility.