pebbles surround us
by centuries of waves

along the shore –
they fetter us
with their unsteadiness

towering in dunes
of polished stone sun-drenched
and sea-wet

beating on our doors
at night
in mountain shapes

they bear down
on our chests
with fossil feathers

frothed within a stolen duvet
cracking skulls
across the flat sea surface

mocking ships that tilt
at silly angles
on uneven reefs

they grind the iron hulls
to silt –
our fragile island

washed up from the histories
of coracles and swords

and worn-out harbours
empty of their fleets –
salt-dried against the dawn