Memento mori
Jet is the bead for mourning,
black, pure and hard -
it is the shadowed forest, vibrant
with birds and leaves
and the death of forests -
Long nights of rain sweeping
fallen branches, abraded
by river stones, to the sea.
A rich silt covers them,
seeps into grains and fissures,
the weight of time and waves
compressing the fibres to a dark
jewel, a lens to view the earth’s
histories: the first expulsion,
the voyage on the swollen tide,
the siege of mud - each bead
is a bereavement: the empty crib,
eroded hills, fields of blood, the burial
of love. Add your own lament
to this inventory of loss. Catch
in the lustre of a stone whose colour
never fades, your mirrored breath.