In Waves

Ben Eaton is in the final year of his combined honours degree in Creative Writing and English.

Dreadlocks of weed from

blank coral skulls tickle the soles

of our feet. Patches of sunlight in

broken glass patterns; green

then black. Brief tastes of salt

burning air, then breathless

wetness.

 

White

as the underside of a lifeboat

barnacled with liver spots, tangled

patches of seaweed-grey

across the spine.

Tossed by tides

face down in froth.

 

We’re just standing on the rocks

like we’re scared of

sea-monsters, all silent and still

as goldfish.