Sea Bricks

I have a collection of sea bricks,
battered and rolled by the sea.
Perfect bricks transformed beneath,
square pegs that knew their places,
rounded and cajoled into fabricated holes.

Over time, I find more, smooth, and whole,
or unfinished wedged between rocks.
I uncover again what is hidden beneath
and scarred and resurrected
they are rarely what they seem.

True to me, I nurture and polish them,
alter their position and lay them down.
As I tend them old shapes change
some turn to dust others root
become entangled immobile.

I build nebulous scaffolding and in the
vast agoraphobic spaces between,
uncoupled from where they were formed,
I assemble them into something that makes sense,
and in this cats cradle hope they are enough.