A Confluence

A Confluence

 

Between here and the island, the waves converge

in a confluence of green water, biting off granite,

grinding it to a sand that blinds with whiteness.

At the moment of spilling over, breakers clash

and cross; spume spurts upwards, and the currents

pass through themselves, so that water flows both

ways simultaneously: all those molecules impelled

to wash and writhe in a foaming flux of contraries.

 

And think yourself a cuttlefish, or a nautilus, caught

in that crossfire of fluid, surrendering your jellied

fluorescence to this age-long war of water, choked

in a flurry of sea-borne sand, wide eyes blearing –

you delicate, transient thing, crushed and drowning

while the water strives forever, endlessly strafing.

 

Poem by Giles Watson, 2013. Inspired by the confluence of tidal water between Mistaken Island and Goode Beach, Albany, Western Australia.

 

Done