29 minutes

29 minutes I walked in one direction
along that beach,
towards things I thought were corpses
animal corpses, black reclining things.

The sky was whisked lead, into which
someone had folded sifted light
turning all the tussocked grasses
rainbow against the dunes.

The sea had a blue streak in it,
a tropical band different
from the wild, thrashing
southern colour of the rest.

My footprints were cloven.
And then there were dogs’.
And piles of seaweed that didn’t smell.
The sand was hard.

Twenty-nine minutes and then
a phone call with the wind hemming
at my elasticised collar barracking in
my neck and face. Sorry? I’m in a gale!

It rained on me. Spotting
the pale blue of my sports, outdoor
wear. Were it not the end of summer.
Were it not the end of a cold summer.

Overhead was the perfect dark for
lighting up grasses, dunes and whole
framed images for taking back
to the city inside a head

blown like a flower.
Like a peony blasted from
so much sun. And time.