There is a geological principle of ‘isostasy’ which, dubiously summarised, suggests that if the pressure from above is equal to the pressure from below then where they meet is a point of vast strength and stability. This poem takes the proposition a cheeky step further, that by the same principle the tip of a wave might support our weight if we’re missing a loved one across the water.
Isostasy
And another thing I didn’t say:
that the upward mass of a cresting wave
will always momentarily equate
to the average human being’s weight;
so that if your timing is exact,
your footfall strict, and you’ve cracked
the basic rudiments of fetch,
you can run across the sea from one edge
to another on a causeway made
of temporality and water. Please mind
to keep that close next time the scale
has got too broad to broach, the pale
well passed beyond; and come down then
against your coast to hear the sound of feet
come in across the rooftops of the sea.
This much is truth, in principle at least.
