Joan of Arc’s Stone, Le Crotoy

Estuary without glory. Brown waters,
Plural waters, plural loops
Of more pallid intersecting selvedges
Advance, hiss, and cover shine of mud
And lap a fisherman’s leaning

Black boat, surround it, and advance,
As brown as clouds. And clouds as brown
As advancing waters smudge
The supposed clemency of what we name
Heaven, in slow bars.

They wait, for the turn. Then cross
These flats with her-one or two
Birds lift and set her rubicund
Chilled face to being
Judged, and fire.

*

Lay any flowers, sea lavender,
Mesembrianthemums, under the
Grey stone which tells you this.