Wednesday, 17 January 2018

12 apostles (latest edit):

Twelve in silence stand
eight under the sun
four in shadow.

Resolute, they look to the sea
no matter the time of day
the season at hand
the lunar or solar cycle
the stars that spin above.

Twelves sentinels to guard
eight under the sun
four in shadow.

Sand, stone, ragged grass and steadfast
silence within the relentless boom
defend the indefensible
against salt, wind and ocean.

They meet the sea,
whose waves crash like wild Picts
against Hadrian’s wall, foam tossed high
to sparkle before the fall, soundless
even as they grow incomplete.

Twelve apostles silent all day,
eight under the sun
four in shadow.

when I was a boy I stood upon one,
the arch to cross still existed then
and, in the wild wind and sea spray battle,
grasped that the world would always be
greater than reality.

Now sixty and only eight remain,
four have surrendered grain by grain
into the great journey of sea and sand
to find themselves never whole again
but particles of a new land
in a distant horizon
unnamed until mangroves seal the fragments into soil.

In memory twelve remain, silent, frozen
in a time before language and dance
when the world, lately formed,
hung itself out to dry
like the wings of a newly birthed dragonfly.

They guard still, the twelve;
eight under the sun
four in shadow.

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