In Summer’s indolence, I’m rude.
Body flummoxed from walk-camp
Walk-camp. Days merge
like the seconds
Between a step:
At night my body floats,
Lifted by a fat moon.
By morning, the dew beneath
groundsheet bruises Earth
Like a footprint
Low tide, neap now too.
The crackle of a pebble beach
Thick mossed boat ropes
sink into the stones.
Pull as I might, there is no give
imagine these chords latched
To a forgotten treasure
Only obtainable by Hercules
Or a tractor
I pick softly cut seaglass
Selecting only the best
Before the sea closes shop
And covers its wears
The sandflies prick up at gloaming
Pipers descend, funnelling them in
Weeping
