Saturday, 8 April 2017

Pennard To Three Cliffs Bay


Castle on the ledge of the day's lunch,
breathing to the undulations of the small river
snaking into a sea of haze and levitation.
The valley tussled with spring bare trees
budding in an ivy sauce, drizzled and gleaming.
The heady sun of a gorse oven cooking
dreams of butternut squash summer pies
their crusts crumbling on driftwood in repose.

The talcum paths drought it will rain today.

Lay a mind on the satin horizon where
the seam between sea and sky is unpicked
by a sail-ship unzipping across the bay.
High sighs upon the cliff top peeping down
where barely a wave stirs the rock spittle,
or wiggles that skipping rope to the
breath of the channel's lowing whisper.

This grassed sea of sand dunes and
beach adventures to rocky points,
or footprint stumbled paths that climb
the bean-stalk halcyon days
of all our childhoods fastened in full sap.

Then we spot the first hot lizard,
basking aside this honey path
from Pennard to Three Cliffs Bay.

Pause to think.
Was there ever such a day?

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