All The Colours


One pretty evening’s

Never-to-be-repeated shore.

Autumn-beginning’s sunset

Casts her bronze folded nets of waves

Against the welcoming pebble shelves.

They break into scattering strings

Of brief-life jewels as

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A Different Pulse.

High, clean wind;

Low-tide water.

here we are,

Walking a thin, hopeful

Line of bare-fertile soil

Between the shore

And Heaven;

Piling smooth stones

One atop the other –

On bedrock –

To hold the

Coming storms away:

Feeling a

Different pulse.