SALVATION
White wettening to grey waves
gently chanting hiss,
of indrawn breath,
surf and human tallow on the flame.
Bellow blown white steel
brands the crackle of burnt skin and crack of fingers
marrow bled bone break
in screw and scream of cruciform repentance,
long drawn out confessions on rack and pinion.
White knuckles curl round rough hewn hazel
clasp in comfort,
clench the sand with toes
to clumsy towers that crumble into ash.
Hand in hand She leads them, oak leaf children through knee
deep swell that lifts and drops
the bleached flax like slowly flapping gulls.
Behind them black disjointed fingers point sunwards from
pitch smeared branch shorn pines
spearing the clear blue with cry and question.
A miniature, ruby eyed and ribbed, on golden cross waves
before the melted sockets wax wet
blessing rope taut sinewed shouts
for forgiveness of a gentler god.
In the roar and fury of the new forged tide
green branches fight the drag and tow
of sand and spume
while deeper in the calm heart beat
of rounded glass
where the waves rise smoothly
as a sleeping chest
grey strands float like kelp
towards the bloodshot distance.
By Graham Affleck
Next poem
Return to main Writer's Cramp page
