I have picked up a lurker who I don’t recognise. I hope he’s noble and not grey rot. I prefer what results from the first over the latter. Unseen and Miskatonic — now that’s an interesting combination. I couldn’t say how Waikato blends with those two, Cthmoolhoo country?

On the beach where I live, last Sunday
three children built a man out of sand

He lay on his back with his arms at his sides
his feet slightly spread as though he was asleep

His eyes were made of two round shells
His lips were the stick from an ice-block
The tide eyed him like seagulls stalking bread

He was both alive and dead at the same time

The first wave touched his arm
then ran to see what he would do next

The second pulled a finger
but again he did not stir

The third wave ran between his legs
as though he was an old man pissing himself

The fourth circled him, taking a layer
of sand equally from his right
from his left so that he remained the same
shape as before but somehow smaller

The fifth wave covered him and in between
its small currents turning he seemed to move

The sixth wave took his lips
They floated out to sea
His eyes sank down to the back of his head

The seventh wave made him look younger

After the eighth he was the idea of a man

The nineth wiped him off the beach like a cloth
on a table where children have been eating cake

The tenth wave would never have known
that he had been there in the first place

But I still say that he was:

In everything I remember of him,

In one ice-block stick and two ordinary shells

In this story that has just been told, and

In ten thousand small pieces of sand sprinkled
widely through a great and restless ocean

I think I have written it up before. I will probably do the same again.

Archivist away as family are visiting from Boston. Noise and industry still emerge from the Archives.

Is this proof that Polish has no word for Working OE.