Summer is in free-fall
and the tree line’s now
green-blue coppering
in late-day shadow,
while the last of day’s
light is spread in chromatic
scatter across the tides
that I’m watching advance
towards the shoreline,
only to retreat with a
dull hiss and whisper
and, as is their custom,
a smattering of granular
stars appear while the
whole of evening slips
into the sea and I try to
preserve this moment
with a want for nothing
beyond the silence and
the need to breathe before
I turn, distracted, and take
the footpath of crushed
stone and shells past
the plumes of salt-grass
and the boat-house listing
upon a salt-softened pier,
and there, further on,
adrift in darkness and
encompassed in calm,
the cluster of wedded cottages
and our tiny windows
winking in golden light.