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