Cockle Shell Beach, Low Tide

Summary

The heart breaks beneath the feet—

It is smashed into more exquisite

shapes—Crystal and… silk—

On this midden, half a tennis

ball has ceased to roll—Just rubber

now—Unsmooth as skin—Barnacles

empty beaks—A lozenge pattern

that never repeats—Thin mud

has dried to its own design—

Like the sun-hard boulder clay—

We think we know but itdoesn't

tessellate—Splits uniquely—

And seen from far away—An unbroken

beige channel through blue-green fields—

Studded with pillboxes—Land borrowed

from the sea—It lets them be a while—

Rearranges the coastline instead—

Shifting the shingle into slow waves—

Singing as we go—