Always these moments.
Rising on the tide of a fractured dream to hear
The boil and murmur of a blackly molten sea beyond the pane.
Breezes pawing gently at the blind.
Who am I?
The self’s shape scattered by the night,
As the roundness of the moon flakes into flecks among the waves,
Re-forms, collapses, coalesces, fades,
Before the undertow
This poem was written for the 26 Words project. The brilliant lettering artist Stephen Raw and I were randomly assigned the word ‘Undulate’ to respond to.
For me, the original poem needs to be seen without any wrapping of the lines – there’s a shape to it that’s deliberate. So you might want to resize your window.
You can read Stephen’s and my ‘creation stories’ on the project blog.