Froth of other feathered in outhouses, wicking selkie from sea. Cormorant black descends on indecipherable outlines of nobility. Ganzie threads of identification trailed in wake of expectant widows sinking in mud flat with faces of bloat. Features stretched by foghorns of determined, of unstandstill. There is no dancing. Silt of plunge, surface, untaut. Cut of thread of them. Hide the feathers; there is no dancing on wet stone of women.
Curve of sea games hidden in false horizon. Drift of plunge, ascend, survival. Caught in nets of beauty, of gorge, in mimicry of instinct. Feel the curtsey in wings of touch. Swallow defences; shift blocks of quarried fear in shape of myth, dredge of pool. Lines of print carried forever in dislocate. Synthesis of leather flesh made microbe, unevaporated in melt of human rigidity. Heels pressed in scuff of decision in straddle of both. Feel the curtsey, pull of bungee of unimagined. Ricochet, swirl, unsnap of soul in concrete of water. Cold moments of unknowing certainty. Churn of mud in swill of secrets unleashed in eternal anonymity.
There is no dancing in bird call of unfound faces. Tingle of feathers that extend to cover the bones of regurgitate, patterns of us all in crunch of before, in mingle of blue black of unspoken between.
Clare Archibald is a Scottish writer living on the Fife coast.She’s widely published, and has hybrid work forthcoming in The Stinging Fly. She’s read at Edinburgh International Book Festival & been long -listed for the Lifted Brow international Experimental Non-fiction prize. She’s interested in ideas of place, memory, loss,movement & vocal expression & will be undertaking a residency to study ecoacoustics in the Pyrenees later this year.
Brian McHenry is a freelance illustrator who lives on the North East coast of Ireland . He works in both traditional & digital media & his art explores the act of remembering the physical & emotional landscape we inhabit.