Cove
Belonging is a cove
that curls concave, surrounding,
viewing you and all that walk on by
with the ambivalence of the tide.
Whilst beyond, the waters crash about
the horizon, into rocks and itself,
here it comes to a crawl.
Reaching, reaching for you,
a hand that shakes the rays that pass
through it.
And that hand digs to the sand
and buries its spoils
for children with plastic spades
to dig up, till buckets full
they go home to fill the
the shelf, that one above the hearth,
with stones and rusted bottlecaps.
When that sun finally sets
below the duvet horizon,
then all that's left is the sound
c r a s h i n g i n
p u l l i n g o u t
c r a s h i n g i n
p u l l i n g o u t
and with it,
it drags part of you with it,
like a siren to the captain,
the cacophony of love
swaddling you in saltwater,
till you are planted amongst the coral
and rocks,
growing a home from home
