Looking out from the cliffs, I saw the sea massage the rocks— up and down, in and out as a potter would when moulding a pot, pouring colour into the chipped parts letting it settle in, before starting again. Shhh, shhh, shhh let Mother help the waves soothed as its careful hands smoothed away the roughest crags, letting the clink drain through its fingers, carried across spans of glazed sea.
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© Thomas Gallimore Barker, 2021