The weathered wood has the company of stones
held in place
until the sculptress returns.
She likes to sit back and let her pieces evolve
in the bleach of sudden sun
in the sand blast of gale.
She loves to see where weed will hold tight
where rust will stain like a weeping eye
where splinter is moulded back to curve.
She leaves her studio
returns to work
under the cover of pounding waves.