' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' The Ever-Surging Sea

I lie amongst the dead both of us soaking up the sun in St. Genny’s churchyard. The dead don’t say a word. I say many including these to the passing birds & bees stitching sound intricately into this morning. Even silence is never silent. A paper cut cuts to the quick. The living and the dead rub shoulders. The dead eager to tell me their names chiselled in time eaten away by sea spray and lichen. Dates from 1593 to now. The ever-surging sea providing background and photography. My lover’s laughter cutting through time as she kisses me.