June and the Shore

The scents have ripened -

sea grass blowing like early wheat,

warmed barnacles of shells and rocks

giving up a sweet salt.

Wind signals yellow flower-drops

in and out of prickled shrubs

like tiny lights.

Slanted inland, limbs of trees -

fringed new green -

heave like the foamed waves, again,


Here you can wander day-long

under the slashed cries of gulls,

the bracken tastes and slushed sounds

lapping at the weight of things.

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