Entry - Poetic Republic Poetry Prize 2014
She turns her eyes from the letter
resting on the table, draws inwards,
as the sea-snail in its shell.
Curls her fingers tight over
the sill and watches the play
of water-drop waves
on condensation-streaked glass.
Considers that she will become
only a name, an undeveloped
negative, will disperse
like sea-foam on the wind.
Closes her eyes and, in the sea-shell
silence of her ears, hears the sound
of rain on windowpanes, of sea wind
tap-dancing through the gaps
in the frames and prays in
salt-songs for something
she knows is already slipping away.