Drum 2

waterin the mornings
he rose like water
moving into the sun’s pull
his back arched and skin rippling
to a spine of skipped stones

the floor
every morning
a wash of abandoned shells
smooth wood
guilty rifles
and tiny shipwrecks

each step a held breath leap
into seaweed knots
strange shapes moving through them
like arrows of night
wading through to
the back of the house
and the sand

there the sun
breaking the horizon
light spilling over the ocean
and the axe in his hands heavy and sure
a wave rising liquid and full then the fall
the throat roar and the salt’s spray
the axe finding its naked way
through light air and wood

every morning
the swing of the axe
the wood splitting
and splinters hurling themselves to the sky
the air full of wet light
the wind blowing foam from his shoulder
silver schools swirling
in the deep of his skin
and grey fins
stalking in the smooth
beyond the break

7 thoughts on “Drum 2”

  1. Simon,
    This is a sultry and moving poem. The performance of the oceanic images communicate the spiritual essence one feels when observing the waves and the “throat roar.”
    ” in the mornings/ he rose like water/
    moving into the sun’s pull,” excellent!
    Sincerely,
    Reagan

  2. Being an ocean-hearted one myself Simon, this one really hit the spot. The air full of wet light is just brilliant.

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