Cliff by Ofelia ferch Rhos

Cliff Ofelia ferch Rhos Salt spattered on chalk carves out the rough-hewn shape of thought:the cliff is a canvas where they escape me, and become mammoths on sandstone, scattered by stick-figured spears.Magpies perch listless as dew and wing their words over the sea.The water ripples their birdsong agon.Clouds crowd in anticipation-I am the heavens surrogate on earththey would rapture me, and leavethe cliff empty as a forgotten age.The stones know no different.I am their occupying army. I kick the stones,kick the moss,kick the cliff looseso that landslipped rocks chase down the incline.The waves retreat-capricious tide.Arrogant as weeds.Pretentious petrichor.Dappled sun on dimpled seareaches over the horizonlike the old joke. More from Ofelia ferch Rhos ↓@ferch_writes on Instagram