washed up like seaweed, writhed and swept;
curled into herself on grit and fear; a body embattled.
she rises pale from the sand, eyes like luminescent plums
holding steady against the storm’s furious exhale
but at her back another wave; an angry stampede
of tumbled elements buckling her knees.
she plunges forward through furious foam; the grinding suck
of displaced sand scouring raw her legs… but there it is
right there – a thing quite strong, shapely and alluring
but thin as a fingernail and already damaged
the colours familiar as her tattered self
in wonder she turns it in cold blue fingers
making clean this beauty on a storm-maddened beach
bucking ocean and stubborn rocks her ragged company.
not knowing but somehow sure, she presses it
against her cheek feeling its colour there like warmth
her breath in shuddering heft unfurls
the storm begins to subside
rearranged billows and white fizzing lickers
leaving her in a grey aftermath
her tired feet in solid contact
with the planet once again.