Tabula Rasa

Weatherd sandstone drapes
like fabric around the sea's shoulders.
A line of islands march towards the horizon,
proof of where the coastline used to be.
My feet clatter over pebbles
smoothed by seasons of tides:
granite eggs, God's eyes, ebony tongues.
I find a heart-shaped stone, perfect fit
for the palm of my hand; white veins
where all blood has drained away.

by Sharon Carter