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Literature Text
What strange currency
exists between the tides -
the murmur of
something bronze and round
imprinted gravely with the day,
and thin sheets of seaweed
curling up against my feet.
A mermaid's purse,
black and withered,
dwelling in these rocks -
and the bright
riviere of whelk
and conch to
cross the palms of selkies
in the mornings;
the glistening sail
in men of war-
lapis blue veiled
and veined just below the surface,
as one slick whisp of silver
darts between my fingers
and drifts into the
current.
exists between the tides -
the murmur of
something bronze and round
imprinted gravely with the day,
and thin sheets of seaweed
curling up against my feet.
A mermaid's purse,
black and withered,
dwelling in these rocks -
and the bright
riviere of whelk
and conch to
cross the palms of selkies
in the mornings;
the glistening sail
in men of war-
lapis blue veiled
and veined just below the surface,
as one slick whisp of silver
darts between my fingers
and drifts into the
current.
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Comments27
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Quite enjoy this concept. I wish there was a bit more story to it... perhaps it's the word "drifts" at the end that's putting me a little off. Just where we move from litany to action, the actor goes passive. Don't know if that's at all helpful.