Spa at Portavadie

On shingled shores of Loch Fyne
Reflected through rock pools of time,
Spewed from the bowels of the planet
Titan's marbles slung in granite
Cushioned amid bruised heather,
Cirrus sweeps as a feather
Over Arran's caldera looming large;
An old god, re-forged.
Gentle tides abandon jellyfish
In this wild petri-dish,
Shrinkwrapping surrounding shells,
water evaporates in primal cells.
And I marvel at the spark
Triggering the evolutionary arc
beyond gopher wood pairs;
DNA coupled in helical stairs.
Nothing from nothing, ignition,
Perfected by imperfection.
Blending bleached bones,
Carving sacred stones with opposable thumbs gilded in silvery scales,
Aquatic apes feeding vast brains
with briny mineral remains,
skimming the primordial broth
of all life-enriching froth. A gannet cries, breaking the spell
His yellow bill piercing, vertical,
Sinking plumb-line into silvery shoal,
Dark matter gathers above, nimbus coal,
Skewered to pine-topped glens,
casting shadows over patchy dens
of Crofter's shining pearls dotted within
Each hopeful clearing;
A testament to temporary triumph, Eliding nature's ebbing tide. The rain's soft percussion plays,
As I relax in the infinity rock-pool
Incongruous in this man-made spa,
Reluctant to crawl out into the cold.
I feel how awful it is to have this body,
In fact,
how irresistible. Suzanne Fairless-Aitken