5 thoughts on “Littoral

  1. Indigo, mottle of purple and amber, ink,

    Damson whipped with cream, improbable colours of sea
    And unanalysable rhythms – fingering foam
    Tracing, erasing its runes, regardless
    Of you and me
    And whether we think it escape or the straight way home.

    The sand here looks like metal, it feels there like fur,
    The wind films the sand with sand;
    This hoary beach is burgeoning with minutiae
    Like a philosopher
    Who, thinking, makes cat’s-cradles with string – or a widow
    Who knits for her sons but remembers a tomb in another land.

    Brain-bound or heart-bound sea – old woman or old man –
    To whom we are ciphers, creatures to ignore,
    We poach from you what images we can,
    Luxuriously afraid
    To plump the Unknown in a bucket with a spade-
    Each child his own seashore.

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