Copihue Poetry

The coral beach crunches beneath
our feet, skitters across the floor
to the left or to the right as we follow
the wild Atlantic way driven or borne

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along by the prevailing winds,
fragments scattered just
like breadcrumbs or immaculate
sea creatures reduced to dust.

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Carraroe is now long past
but still we turn corners in surprise,
caught out by one new vista
a shimmering balm for the eyes.

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We too were exotic once,
swam in technicolour; sea anemones,
zoanthids, blue coral, soft corals,
sea fans and sea whips, surreal reverie

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in last year’s tides. Now we are ground
down, debris in the ashtray,
on the carpet or the car-seat —
soon all coral will fade away,

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a reddish stain or slight blush
as the afternoon filters into dusk.