Beneath sea tides
choke white surf,
osmotic shadows stain,
once breathing wood.
Anemones cleave
to salty crust.
Once birds sung to us,
now shell armoured
we rot too slowly.
Bronze was young
when seaside proud
we stood…
hard by the briny.
Missing the wind,
rain’s sweet tears,
leaves that fell
in dry autumn showers.
Our amputated stumps
stretch sad, their stories
lost along the new bay.
Sisters wait, tears sea drunk,
wrapped in cold salt graves.
Our despair weighs down,
as sea sinks her fangs, these
water teeth into the bole.
Once ancient lands
lived, seeded and grazed,
now relentlessly washed
of their history
by a blue grey sea.
©️ Dai Fry 14th February 2020
Revised July 2020..