Anna Taylor

Upright beneath
Their buoyant arboreal sway
​Now kelp poured flat against the sand
Still rooted to its island. 

The island was a matter of perspective.
I held it, looking in
Standing at the edge of another.
Onto and out from.

Come apart, surrounded 
Partially seen and submerged, it would travel
Displaced at every rest.

Contained now in skin,
It had washed up at your feet
Where water crept in layers
White foam frayed like the seaweed’s edges,
That reaches up underwater or clings to loose rocks.
This life upon it would all become calcified.

Immersed in air as under water
One overlapping the other, emerging in sand or waves. 
Where the mist disperses further than sight,
These clouds fell upon the land.

I picked the island up from the shelf and held it in my palm. 
Being close and far
A place as object
One to climb down from, into the connective mass
A place from which to see.