Shell and Pink Seaweed

the eye tilts
like a satellite dish perched
on flowing robes
cupping a would-be pearl.

The seaweed nuzzles more
nourished by her own warm pinkness.
As she folds herself over her pinnacle
she thinks
‘Is this how it feels
to be a cockscomb or a caterpillar?’

The others, the crowd,
stuck, hard-edged,
hang on to what they know.



Tidal sand (2006), Mike Harding