pieces of an island Martin Meyler

pieces of an island

Leaving the house this morning, found four small items in my coat pocket a fragment of shell, two discs of shale, a pyramid of milky quartz no bigger than a nail.

A little later, swimming, sculling softly. I pass into the dawn which pours from the angled windows. The pool fills up with light. I track across it, measured against the intricate crossbeams of the roof. I'm on my own at this end. It's peaceful. At times I forget I'm breathing. I think about the objects which were in my pocket. Harder to think face down, when I count laps, rhythm of breath, angle of entry. Going. Focus. Return. On my back, I think more. I imagine what the sound of shell and shale and milky quartz might be, together.

They fit without fuss in my coat pocket, and weighed almost nothing.

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