Caroline Gill

Salt-blue, the waters rise and fall in waves
on a shore where the scent of seaweed
pulses through the prevailing wind in waves. 

The sea is a strange place for the shaking
of hands, for eyes that shimmer
with tears, shadows that part in waves. 

Strange, and yet there has always been
a split-second gulf in this liminal space
where the moon tugs at the tide in waves. 

Noon and night merge in a single shade
of grey: vessels fall through horizons
of pain, emitting morse code in waves. 

The gulls alone know what it is to be
cast adrift as flotsam and jetsam, left
to wonder if hope will return in waves. 

The sea leaves a caustic taste: it cleanses
every cut that skims its surface, rolls
ice over open wounds in waves. 

At the flick of her mermaid’s tail, he dives
into the water. Is he too late? Too young
to know that the heart beats in waves?