At the Edge


This is the edge, beneath its pastel dome,
Where coral shapes emerge and dance, and then dissolve back into foam.
The grey green cloak of evening’s put the cliff to sleep once more,
But the glass rim of the ocean is still breaking on the shore,
As the swallowing horizon throws up shards of shattered light
In multi-coloured prisms round the hemline of the night.
Our footprints, left not long ago,
Have vanished, smoothed from heel to toe.
The cruel day rests in tatters.
Nothing much else really matters.

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