Wednesday 6 July 2011

On Morecombe bay a cockle picker

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.