Cromer beach
First
the clack of the flint skulls then
the
scratch of the gravel displaced
finally obedient
sand
where we
walked easily together.
Behind I
watched your steps compress
sand, pushing
the water aside
the
earth lighting your step lifting
you just
my hand tethering you.
There at
a boundary of blue
we watched
a metallic mist come
I knew then
you would be taken;
Tides are
a clock counting down, up.
Our
hands entwined a godless joke.
Our clambering
children grown, gone.
Do not
look for solace in this;
Do not
look, back, forth, do not look.
James A
Bullion September 2014