ghosts his dune-dragged forefinger
along meandering maps
of sand-eel and mud-jugged lug-
worm:
Salt sharp kelp is flung like tartan kilt
on the hips of anorexic
struts of shingle; dead sods of seal
thwacked with surf, tendered with scrats
of sea-thrown stone, sunk in damp
sand, are fresh with turning tide;
a wick of moon licks curling
neap surf; splinters of rain keen
on wet stone, that tack currents
down the cliff-
lipped combe.
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