The Barra Stone

He lies with a stone under his pillow
hearing the sea
he lies with a stone under his pillow
dreaming of birds on the wing
		and salt spray

he lies with a stone under his pillow
living a life of solidity

he lies with a stone, grained, grey
	and white, black-flecked,
the ceiling above his eyes
	far away and painted blue

his dreams of clay transformed
	to mobility and liquid
	winds blowing sounds his way

he lies with stone beneath him
	silent, still and true
	his tongue moving
	murmurs the heaving water

breakers at the barrier, coral
	and golden fish, silent
	currents the endless wish
	for ground and shore,
		kissing the sand

in his dreams he stands
	watching the breakwater
	awaiting the consuming wave
	that lays all flat

stones sucked and rolled and still
	intransigent
	indestructible.

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