I see you have landed far off in the distance
It is misty and grey
I can barely make out the horizon because it is so hazy that the land sort of melts in with the sky
Although I cannot make out your features I am sure you are there
…washed up on the shore.
I wonder what brought you here, whether you travelled far across the ocean or whether you broke
off, a greater branch from a nearby tree
You seem to have shed your skin
Touched, rubbed and stroked by so many hands
That too have with fondness found you here.
Shaven off too it has been washed away everyday by the sea,
she has weathered you,
exposing your flesh,
so that I can see it like muscle
made from fine fibres and woven together
in different hues of orange, gold and bronze.
You have stillness resolute
Surrendering to endless crashing waves that wash you from beneath,
Rising to question whether you will be swept away.
I wonder whether you think
If you ever dream
of becoming something else
a ship perhaps
…a toy one of course for you do not have enough wood on you for a real sailing trip
…perhaps you’ll one day be chopping board for mum or cathy or whoever wants one
Such slender drift wood, someone ought to make something out of you…
…or perhaps not
You are far too beautiful just stranded here
I will leave you for now
And perhaps ill come back tomorrow and dance with you again, if you are still here.
Berrara Beach, June 2020. See also Performances, I am made of wood