This poem was ‘found’ by me in Kika’s essay, meaning I only used words from her piece of work to construct it. In that way, it is co-written. I offer found poems on commission; visit my ‘commissions’ page for details.
The way the roots curl need not be seen,
As nature writes about itself. Above the ground,
The tree is perfectly formed for someone to sit on.
The body of a sailor is like that of a sea-shell,
A crafted gift, a site of process and growth, unfinished
Poetry. The song of waves.
The sea acts on the stone— etched into the cliff, a nest.
The bird is a poet writing on her five eggs, alert to danger,
Alert to imperial history, scribbling rhapsodies during
A storm.
“The love songs of a forest hermit
Songs within the rock itself—
On his death, the cliff and the poem became one.
Traces, fossils, a root system,” writes the bird,
In manuscript intertwined, perfectly aligned.
It cannot be wild, this.
You can follow Kika Hendry on Substack, where she publishes fantastic essays on contemporary culture.