You came unknowing|
when the rising tide
ground slow among the stones.
Moonlight tangled in your hair;
You bleed and need
The sea birthed me.
This flesh, the sand, the stones;
The stones shelve,
You always knew you’d drown.
Liz Bourke was born in Dublin, Ireland, where she still resides. When not suffering from attacks of poetry and prose, she studies ancient history at Trinity College.
“He always knew he’d drown” is the second of a pair poems I wrote after some not-entirely-idle musing on what it means to love and live with the sea, and what it might mean to have one’s feelings reciprocated by it.