I was inspired today (again) by Catherine Singer's Icelandic pictures (I have to ration myself or half of my posts would be on Iceland too); and also Barbara Laucius's beach pictures, of broken down driftwood, entitled Beach Worn. Taking Staffa (day 21) into the mix also, along with the eye-shaped curves in Carianne Garside's days 20-22, and admiring the word "basalt", the heaviness and solidity of it, the shiny wet blackness...
Breaking the surface, basalt scales
drip, dully sheened; sun warming
anthracite back. Flex wing muscles,
expecting a geological grinding, but
silent. Earthbound in the step-off
point between sea and layered airs,
leap to regain fluidity. Somersaults
of pewter, tumbling your buildings.