Saturday, May 1, 2010


He used to tell me the strangest things,

like how there are spiders

in the wind that comes from the sea —

a wind that tunnelled through

homes, cars and towers,

hollowing them out.

It’s hard to argue with him

in the shadows of these cliffs

facing the ocean,

the top-heavy overhangs

reaching for the sea,

the wind-carved caves

of pale grey honeycomb —

spider webs

spun with stone.

Beware of Falling Rocks

says a sign, that creaks

as the wind ups the tempo

of its whistling, eating the land

as only the air can.

And rocks can be heard

glunking into water

like creatures from beneath, or

scuttling in the shadows of the cliffs —

now shadows of their former selves.

It’s hard to argue with him in this

darkness between immensities —

in the face of the ocean,

back to the world,

the wind filling in

what has been carved out.

(previously published in Space, 2006)