The Watcher
She walks backwards into the sea;
shingle gives ingress to her feet
before removing any word of her.
At her shoulder a scrappy halfmoon
of grey seals pause their morning hunt
to study this rum spectacle.
Her cotton shift loses a little pigment
day-by-day, so the dark blooms
are an unreadable cloud below the surface.
From the cliffs, you can see her, if you wish it.
And when the wind drops just enough,
seal-song will act like a balm.
Go to her now, she will send back your dead,
salvage your bedazzling treasures.
She can feel you are heartsore.
…
Helen Ivory is a poet and visual artist. Her fifth Bloodaxe collection is The Anatomical Venus (2019). She is an editor for IS&T and teaches creative writing online for the UEA/NCW. Her New and Selected will appear from MadHat (US) later this year.
atriumpoetry.com 
this is very good indeed
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The images in the last stanza hit the body in such a powerful way.
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Wow! I could almost hear the waves and feel the wind.
marion
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