The NS Poem: The Sea

A poem by Graham Mort.

Photo by Gerry Brakus

The sea   you said   no one can
                       do anything
                       about that.
There it was lapping at staithes
                       and jetties
                       at iron stanchions
stacked lobster pots that offer a
                       mazed way in
                       but not out.
No one can do anything about
                       the rhythm of it
                       in our sleep
as if we’ll step ashore woken
                       from our
                       long landward
evolution   the beat of it   the
                       suck and swell
                       swell and silt
of it   the grinding down of all
                       things to sand.
                       Strands of kelp
uprooted   into clear pools
                       of saltwater
                       dimpled on the
beach beyond crusted breakwater
                       balks meant
                       to hold it back
the sea   as if anything could
                       this side of
                       space/time.
It’s beyond us   you said meaning
                       me to
                       understand
that much   at least   at last
                       your eyes
                       narrowed
your hair blazing with salt
                       or merely set
                       with stars.