At the sea's edge, the twins have discovered
castles in the sand, wet handfuls heaped
in the shadow of the hill. A pebble-garrison,
dried wreaths of weed; down the shore,
the older girl, red-haired as the sun's track
on western water, the shells in her hands
prised from the chalk, knots of lost time.
The sea washes in, swirls out. The oak-ring
shadows the water, salted to stone. Their
ink-stained father to his waist in the tide
annotates the sun's angle on wet pages
and his palms: their father who fiddles
half-drowses with his feet in dry sand,
tuned to childish shrieks and seabirds'
melancholy, the slow shift of waves
where the tide will come in. Winds,
clouds, wrack and riddles in the deeps:
out beyond geography. It is not unlike a sky.









Sonya Taaffe has a confirmed addiction to myth, folklore, and dead languages. Poems and short stories of hers have been shortlisted for the SLF Fountain Award, honorably mentioned in The Year´s Best Fantasy and Horror, and reprinted in The Alchemy of Stars: Rhysling Award Winners Showcase, The Best of Not One of Us, Fantasy: The Best of the Year 2006, and Best New Fantasy. A respectable amount of her work can be found in Postcards from the Province of Hyphens and Singing Innocence and Experience (Prime Books). She is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in Classics at Yale University.

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