1 Flow
through bone and brass I listen for the shore to crumble residue makes no noise microscopic particles peel off the surface of the coast with each wave they bleed a little we hear the shore through shells wood and wind the hum of particles loose and drowned unnoticing the cold weigh visitor-centre maps down with limpet shells one crowns the corner on the left creates island where there was perhaps an island eroded dust settles down on that patch the sand swells into a circularity a mass formed underneath just off the coast of Cornwall the noise so low that whole mounds move before the fishes notice on a constant rise the sea bed is lifting copying the limpet shell shape on our maps reshaping us unaware of the storm the tide
2 Ebb
……………….unburied grass set in sand the broken strings of bows rigid remembering past tension the pull and snap of a sharp note all that the musicians in us can do…………………..is revert to plucking…this…landscape dry sea water boils off at low tide a rusted cable cuts our shore in half……….a fold on the map in almost the same…place we can read the rocks and sing them put these molluscs to music the radula of a limpet polishing the brass half-sunken……toothed….wrack…..twisting…..to…..the….melody hermit crabs scuttling to its rush fossilized remains retranslated into a true sound……………………….of ourselves