A Night At a Tumbling Edge

A mottled crab scuppers its sea legs in fluorescent foam. Blue pods rattle on green tides. Bladder wrack, Mermaid’s Hair washing tangled ankles. There are voices in my open mouth, they roll over a briny tongue, intone words from the breath of spray and brume. Where the sky hangs, gull beaks open to scoop the bones of a shoaling surf. My heart is booming in a hollow seashell. This is the Church of a God disrobed of human thought. This is the roofless house of the sun and moon, a place consecrated to the storm, to the depths of darkness; to the bright blades of the suns daggering rays. This night the rough tussles with the calm and they dance at the edge of a clashing chaos. Mother, father, stranger, we are all here speaking through a whirlpool’s gullet, yet who has gone ahead of us to express this sea-glow and hat surfaces at the edge of our own shores?