Monday 7 December 2020

L'Ancresse Early in November

the dog entertains himself on the sand,
with mirrored sky and drawn out tide,
the expanse of beach has become grand.
wind is bitter from the north side:
an insistent whisperer 
rebrushing the dog's fur
and freezing the head off of me

the sun touches the sea
and makes again a silver pathway there
on which the wind dances 
catching a current within the air
to turn motion into a visible delight
and that's just the reflection of something bright

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