for Sam Hanner
I waded into the shallows and passed my hand through
the water’s skin to pick up what I thought
was an old binocular lens, fallen from some ship
or washed up from some other beach.
It shimmered then popped clear from the sea
like an amniotic sac – not a lens but sea glass
polished convex and rounded by the tide,
and I realised for the first time
I was not the moving water
but the cloud of sand curling beneath it.