"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
When you pierced through an invertebrate shell
and forced from under it a scuttling creature.
Pink and childish, skirting from rock to rock.
Panicked by those big brown eyes –
which once were little black holes in the world to hide in.
You forced a hand that grips too tightly,
shook to the floor, shucked away from you.
Fleeing now for that puny cave,
for the courage that comes with the darkness of it.
Filled with the tingle like before a sneeze,
rupturing with shivers from the new cold
that comes from the light that you took,
while I loom in your shadow, gathering up my armour again
ready to be once again baptised by the sea.
Washed up on some other crag.