The Academi Cardiff International Poetry Competition

Lynne Rees

Moving On

From where I lie, I can pick you up in an inch
of space between my thumb and finger, and put you
down anywhere - out onto the sea to bob along
on your metal framed, candy striped boat. Or here
next to me, so I can taste the salt on you.

Or along the beach among the sea cucumbers,
shrinking to millimetres as you travel. You’re light
as the wind as I whisk you over the sand, and unaware
of your own fantastic journey - your muscles, limbs,
puppets to the pressure of my fingertips.

I can crush you, press gently until my thumb
and finger meet, squeeze all the sea water
out of you, rub the skin together until you’re
just the grains of yourself. But I don’t.
I return you to the place you chose, at the edge

of the sea, your back bent over and glowing
in the sun, liberating shards of seashells
from between your toes. I ease my fingers away
and your hand lifts, runs through your hair
as if missing the weight of something from above.