and paddling from dinghy to shore

remembering sailors


who wrote about shores and oceans green

rolling plains


touching those sentences

looking at strata


running my fingers along lines and discontinuities

these places are marginalia rising from their own myth



with monsters and seabirds and islanders


I once pulled up my anchor

and found, embedded in wave and strand and kelp,


an old lobster pot, broken, no longer a trap.

Today, I returned with poetry between my toes


First published in Fast Fibres 7 (2020)