you are heavy these days
muttering and basket-armed in the wall shadows
your hotchpotch selection of trinkets, strung from the fir branches,
are added to less and less frequently
i do not believe that the waves no longer offer treasure
:the pregnant belly of a pink dinted bouye
a new blue shoe
spinnakers – those alluring lures
you see them less
a little further downhill
waveward,
they still dress the crab for you,
shove it back in the shell cavity, all mushy-pushed and
looking like it never scrabbled in shingle tides
.
.
craggy blackrock spines; bladderwrack bound, show at neap tide
time is rushing for you now
Things have a reality in these poems that is more than the word/object pairing or symbolism. There is something going on just beyond my ken and it is beautiful. How is the emotion so subtley and accurately caught and released? From where does the sense of mystery and care come? I am boggled by their transcendant beauty. Things are soft and hard, some are spiny, insides are often snail or crab squishy. I will stop thinking out loud and ponder more but I think the beauty I feel is partly that I will never know how only that it it is.
Paul, I am honored to recieve such a comment.
thank you.