Sophia stands, golden,
calf-deep on an empty beach,
feeling the insistent tide.
Brushed by silvered fish, 
it may be seaweed, jaja.
Breathing salt.
 
Crabs have baked 
in volcanic tide pools.
Molluscs cling,
urchin tendrils sway
lightly, their march
imperceptible.
 
They leave soundless depths
to cook on jagged rock,
and all is as should be.
Humming, fizzing white,
incanting, lifting,
circling spiral spheres.
 
Om aim hreem shreem
sri matre namaha
 
June 2022
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