Shin deep in the North Sea
far from the arms of the beach warm
towels and your smile,
I stood skimming stones at Norway
counting as they dived
to mingle with ripples and rain
from a vaulted sky.
I remember how
the sea spat me out
too young to kill myself when I was nine;
she rejected me face up,
denied me my destiny;
she knew it was not my time.
© Copyright D. Archer October 2011