Ware

by Cáit O'Neill McCullagh

the ware on the Kiltearn shore waits
steady and held fast, but for the ebb
that sifts and slakes over its tresses
the ware on the cobbles at Balconie
waits for the safe return of the sea
the birth-break-water mother wave
a hamefarin lover, not lost at all
returns
repairs
renews
and the unruly dance of all living
stirs up the drookit, shanty ware  
and lifts its weeds to freedom