Washed up

No mere jetsam or brackish remains but a deceit of the eye, an archeological paradox in tableau.

Are these objects deposited — or uncovered — by the sand and waves?

Had they lain waiting underground for tidal revelation? Buried by an older force of movement and then exposed to open skies. Or did they land in position so the sand could frame and trace around them?

Erosive flowers that grow on sand perhaps; they have no pollination or bloom but leap straight to wilting decay. We don’t see them form but they appear as object protruding — or sinking — onto a canvas of sands.

They’re on the long passage to atoms — but also fixed in a rapid moment.

And like the best ambivalence and tricks of the eye, they give off a shadow flicker of time.

Rino Breebaart