I need to travel again
to blast creeds from the surge
sun sears bands over eyes
blind to rituals
holocausts sapped by
the spume and every urge
surrenders.
Witness to pilgrimage
stave out the claim
to be real, wend across
score-sheets of tidal flats
oblivious to scansion
alive to the thrum:
sharp scallop shells
sculpture, poem, quavers
semibreves of sand
balefully sibilant.
Give up the self to the melody of matter
surge to peninsula’s jagged hang
poised at the moment, winging space
between temple
and the cold lung of water
whatever is faith
is enough?
