A girl/surfing/
Walks backwards slowly into the sea/
Cold grey waves/
Only feel the emptiness/of walking away/
From the world/
Into the long breath/ of the sea/
Comforting/enfolding/
Floating out to the empty line/
Which takes her to the Atlantic/
And all she’s left behind/
Barbara Hepworth’s hole in the sky/
Pale alabaster/heartstrings in wood
Batter my heart three-person’d god/
It is a rookery after all/a nest
Above the sea/where she could hammer & chisel/
Out a life/
The pagan hills she called them/a backdrop
The bruise she finds on her side/
A life of pushing up against things/
They go/unnoticed/
But leave their mark/indigo, yellow, mottled/
Still the turquoise sea/beaches of mica and granite/
Shards of pottery from sunken ships/
This is the spot that takes her to the edge of things/
Where she can see through
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