The Sea Hare slips from water-forms,
scribes patterns in sand with ivory shells
and seagull bones to light paths unseen.
She rides the storms on ribbons of kelp,
stalks waves when they covet slivers
of painted wood or steel mirrors for vanity.
She spins, with sea hare skill, tunnels that twist
and shimmer in blue, green, black; sequins
them with plankton glow to guide lost
sailors home to her green-lit halls.
The slow old river soothes to her whispered
challenge; he falls into her web of tricks,
losing each game to give up small swimmers
he would hoard in rooms of woven weed.
From Iota No 75 (2006)