Seaglass

When mind is unsteady, bloody and shapeless,
when I want to rip my love of you from my throat  
and ram,  
ram it down yours  
until you are quiet  
and are still, I go to water.  
I watch the gentleness of lifting and sinking,  
I sift through shells, pebbles and sand  
for seaglass,  
let it engulf my whole as Mother's womb,  
An hour of my time washes from my life with ease, until pockets are heavy  
and rage is lighter to carry  
in my grit-roughed fists.  
I send a message to you, a location, a desire to remain and an open invitation.  
As at this point you would be welcomed with no danger to your form, or my box of calm.  
You come twenty minutes later, remove your helmet, lock your bike, sit on the beach next to me, try to start a jovial conversation.  
Mute,  
I show you what I've been doing. You join in,  
tearing the soil back with your bare  
hands, picking out rounded pieces of glass.  
I tell you "Browns and dark blues are rare."  
An hour later you declare  
"I found a brown piece. I didn't believe you until now."  
I laugh, a genuine laugh and realise  
how long and arduous life can be,  
how easy it is to go full throttle as a bull  
to red flag,  
come
with a slow tenderness - gentility.
An honest, simple objective
and above all things,
let your kindness be met
with love.