Delicate snout
smells blood
a creature
all teeth and cartilage
skin so silky
it parts water with no sound
flies the umwelt
waterscape
follows the
ripple pattern
blown out by the surf
and fermented down
to bend its spine
clamp mouth on
the ocean’s
leftovers.
Until the wings grew
feathered and slim
in akimbo angle
bones as hollow as
wave tunnels
spread and woven
into air
where the shark
holds its water breath
breaches its dive
upwards into flight
rich and strange
unseen
and so magic
it has no name
no place in the map of all things
flies against the wind
dipping seawards
along the cloud line
teething the sky’s
bloody sunset.
What a magical, brilliant poem, Lucy. Thank you. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Rob, this is my son's 'spirit animal' brought home made of clay. His hands in the photo. I was really impressed...
DeleteYes, magical, oceanic, where we came from and like your son's shark, in flight but longing to return.
ReplyDeleteJust wonderful, Lucy.
ReplyDeleteThanks to you!
ReplyDelete