You leave treasures

on your golden table,

swept crumb clean

by tiny waves.

Taken home and placed

on sun bleached pine,

with sprigs of sea’s weed

and pebble soothed glass.

When age takes away

the wave and sandy shore.

When sight dims and

eyes fill with rheum.

Then touch her treasures,

smell her salty airs,

remember the crash 

and rattle of sea scree.

Draw each breath

and with it,

memories of sand winds

and young limbs.

Remembering when

gulls cried their fish hunger,

and sun backed silhouettes 

passed in wet sea skies. 

Wistfulness marks you,

a desire for foam and dunes

where land gets up from the sea.

A bringing of comfort, this

distillation of mindfulness,

as a pause in your day.

In a dawn filled room of

flax and polish, sense

curtains caught in sea breeze.

These billowing angels greet 

you on this, your last day. 

©️ Dai Fry 16th May 2020.