by Ken Jones

The Great Worm
arching and curving
into the summer ocean

Worm’s Head. From the Norse, meaning a sea serpent. Its head a tilted limestone block. A grass covered ridge arches its back. Its tail, covered at high water, is a causeway of black ribbed rocks.
At the day’s end we lie on the rocks behind the head and watch the seals playing in the clear green water. In Celtic legend they are men and women who have fallen under enchantment. Only at full moon can they briefly regain their human form, and dance upon the strand. Noragh sings softly to them and they draw closer.

Che sera, sera
Whatever will be will be
The future’s not ours to see
Che sera, sera

Little pointed heads break the surface, spellbound with delight.
In the wake of the setting sun we scramble and balance over huge boulders, hastening back before the rising tide. Looking behind us

Under “The Devil’s Arch”
tiny man
caught in a flaming disk

Crossing the causeway our boots grip the limpet covered rocks and crunch through beds of broken cockle shells.

Drifts of snow
the long rock pools
in falling light


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