Curves

The cool coast disappears
in a distant curve of haze
and the lazy trails across
the sky of the sun's bright
meanderings make me pause.

How the water shines as it
churns, its froth and push play
onto the beach where another
lone person stands, as I do,
staring out to sea.

It is a beautiful place, this,
early-morning town of tiny
cottages and narrow roofs,
a sandy incline from dune to
water's edge.  I am alone

here by the sea, forlorn in my
wakefulness, wonder if my time
will come - I too can rush and
play on my own strand, be
motion heading for a shore.

How the tide grows stronger now,
sharper, each passing wave
grinding the sand to submissiveness,
dashes the harbour wall and spume
invades the air to make it a

watery thing, unfit to breathe.  We
live with salt here, in our lungs, on
our faces - oh place of elements
and heartbreak, of high winds and
seagulls calling, calling me away.

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