And the Pearl makes Three

The Pearl Makes Three

They journeyed, my friends.

Their love grew tall like the high tide

marked by green on a pier wall.

They sailed onwards, married over mileage,

threw their net wide and

then dropped anchor in a place they

decided to be.

Then suddenly (it seemed) The Bird and the Sea

were nearly a three.

Here they are, gazing out from

the bank of a highland loch

and taking stock before the real adventure begins.

They could speak grandfather’s chins, choose brown or blue eyes,

debate silly names and remember their childhood times.

Nursery rhymes were sung to them only yesterday.

All the time, taking shape and listening is their little stowaway.

Under the waves of her heartbeat, still

resting in its  bay and connected by a glittering sliver of a strand

Perfectly formed but not quite ready to unfurl

is an ocean pearl.

A tiny carbonite thing, strengthened already

by concentric layers: round like her

belly that burgeons against her clothes.

Tough, like your father and

harboured by the day-to-day swell.

Just one hop away in time

from iridescence: she has that as well.

This friend of mine, the magnificent girl:

the Mother of Pearl.