Broken out of the sheen of the skin of these wrinkles and ripples that fold into the land
A wind’s pulse beats out memory full and skin warm, numb and drumming
Chaff from the breath, wheat from the waves
Sharp, whetted against the curve of memories of lovers’ banks and edges
Welling and slipping
Shades as simple seams and a haven for this light.
The sea peers out through drying wind broken branches.
Through a creaking lullaby that simplifies a look back to the town and different age.
Around the corner, the bow brakes
And at this curvature in the earth where the light bends to the eye, before a beholder can blink
A pale rainbow disappears over the horizon straight on until morning
A wish that was, if ever a wish there was …
Wishing on a tide bent to buggary on breaking out from all this meander
To explain meter marking the distance to dawn
And yet for each and every one there will be no waterline to speak of
No measure
In the shallows, a familiar winter tide returns
And wonders where the earth and tide play out their parts.
Perhaps here, this place, where happy wellies dance and splash, and little cycles trundle through a cascade of light sprinkled across the ripples
A town from a distant age rises.
Perhaps now, from here, all the lapping tides will come
The trees will part for the woods
Weaving the sheen of the skin of these wrinkles that fold into the land, weaving them into something new…
where tides and time mingle with the world
unfolding.