The Toppled House
After the cliff vanished
And the world gave way
For a week across the bay
The tide collected a hundred effects;
A phonograph with Count Basie
Crashed and scratched, a velor couch,
Half the guest bed and a double locked
Chest of linen, wrapped in seaweed.
But most precious of all the bric-a-bric,
Speared upright in the sand,
Was the half moon of a silver mirror
Granting automatic wish after wish
Framing the ocean’s anarchy, the great
Crest and roll, the ache of each wave.
- Chris Andrew
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