The patio is an ocean,
I sit at its edge
dipping my toes into the concrete slab
of a beach.
‘See – the ocean is deep’ I murmur, ‘and I do not know
how to walk on water.’
To walk at all would be a miracle.
So you are barbecuing loaves and fishes
but the water is just water
and if you were to turn it into wine
I would say, ‘that’s a waste of a miracle,
just magic me better.’
That alone would do.
The patio is an ocean full of sea creatures.
It is prickly with sea urchins and slimy with seaweed.
I focus my gaze on the shoreline,
my vision skips, skips across the islands,
this campanula terrain, the petunias and the poppies.
The wheelchair castors scrunch in the pebbles
then sink into the sand.
I am landlocked, stranded.
The patio is an ocean
and tonight I will dream
of trying to get down to the sea.