tyre tread and flip-flop to the beach,
they descend ancient streets
invading this harboured haven
the legions of sightseers:
tide-locked children skimming stones
raucous dogs and their rowdy owners
stifling the sea’s‎ serenity with clichés

I prefer to cling to cliff bottoms
scouring Liassic shale f‎or ammonites
my furrowed brow quelled by sea-foam
my darkest dreaming hours soothed
by the crash and fall of surf
my daylight ghosts banished
by sea-glass sparking in the August sun

Patrik Gryst


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