Skimming Stones

A brooding shadow picks its way towards a taunting shore

Probing, shuffling amongst foreign travellers
Pale-faced and weary

Abandoned by the receding light
Unsteady footsteps upset sleeping waters
Tendrils of sea-green snare
bare ankles
Arriving in sandalled feet to a chorus of rumbling laughter

Sunken eyes gleam in the moonlight, observing, appreciating A face, smooth and rounded, His mottled and worn
Old faces both, weighted with history

Stiff limbs support an outstretched hand, reaching For the handful, tear-shaped
Held, tightly clasped in trembling hands
He feels no warmth

This rounded pebble
A final reassuring possession Two-faced, real and solid Scored and fragile The air moistens, his arm is drawn back Excited shore winds carry his arc Piercing, twinkling stars break his grip One last flight for the wounded

Gliding Skipping

Darting Living

Eluding currents

Slowing, faltering, dipping

under

the murky brown

consumed by stronger wills

He settles

The man who has lost everything

Among weary travellers

Still

Copyright © 2007 Daniel Mclaughlan