Lava and Sand

The soil I’m walking over comes from deeper: a fire had done it in, a stewpot had suddenly popped and its contents streamed out wave over wave until it reached the water, until the sea called it a day and struck back with a counterwave. Stony nightblack dreambarren land where tawny thyme wrestles up and thistle is stitched to every bare thing. Over this malevolence I carry you in me, sevenmonths deadchild, out to the sea