far

Poetry

SEASIDE CAVES

John Grey
issue six

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In the caves,
intricate and cramped,
dark, oppressive,
the sea roars from all sides
like it’s swallowed me.

I climb the water’s
thundering chest,
into its unearthly temples,
a brain, translucent blue,
a glass city,
wedged between misty rocks.

That cacophonous roar
is an offstage rumble now.
No turbulence.
No fury.
All as calm
as saints on a church wall.

I am in a world
of burnished stone,
petrified centuries,
fiery chaos
cooled down to a fortress.

My beam opens
my surroundings spectacularly:
a basin of stalagmites,
the drip still wet on their peaks,
a stalactite sky
pointing down at me.

How small I am.
And yet here, in this cathedral
of drip and echo,
something like a blessing
touches my shoulder.

I lift my light again.
The walls shimmer.
And so do I.