Reclamation Site
There is no waste in Nature,
an alchemy mutates it all.
At night men work under artificial light,
but the sea is lit by the moon.
The sea doesn't understand
the boulders which each day now
amass in its path,
but like blood in veins,
sinuous it slips between stones where it can,
resisting to the last trickle,
an artificially built division...
...yet still, it seems a little sad to me,
and are you the rock, and am I the sea?
I am caught in the shallow tide,
at the fringes of where events begin and end.
Tide still covers rock for a while,
blurring the distinction between now and before,
between possible and impossible dreams.
© Jacqueline Mézec
(This poem was placed equal third in the Jersey Evening Post Writing Competition of 1994)