The space between a table and chairs pulled out and returned, some rarely pulled out, some never returned, A tidal motion where each chair swills awkwardly in the hand, cranked backwards with a slight screech on the stone floor, the body floods into the gap, wakens in the current of resumed connection, feet to the floor, head slightly hunched over, arms that rest or hover on the shoreline, bracket or fold on the surface, wash expression from the face in a motion of careless weather, resume contract with time as steam rises from a cup, or the damp, solid smell of boiled potatoes congealing on a plate, molluscs in their own juices, begging and borrowing thoughts as the debris moves diagonally along a slippery tide, stones, pebbles and sand clog up the arteries, a myriad of colours glinting in the sun, a forgotten self is found picking apart light from dark, sandstone from quartz, the skeletal fineness of shells, chalky to the hand, the tip of the tongue crashes hard on an inner wall of stone, crevices and edges ground down by words, slips backwards in retreat, making peace with the part that got broken off, swallowed in increments, slowly over time, the sea takes back the false edges of the land, as the table resists the weight of inconvenient memory. Not seeking to contain an idea……………..
