some memory of blue clay,
of buttered gorse, jutting bayonet
of flint, half-hidden,
always just an inch away,
this very, very evening, returned
again, beleaguered, beached and batchelor:
palm of secret, saddened gems.
the following adornments remain
abandoned on the tidal floor
waiting for me to discover them –
a glass of sand,
a special pebble,
a mirrored comb of oranged metal,
some catgut, coiled, caught around
a tiny flounder’s jaw, ajar and
aching: hinge of laughter.