Branscombe Blue

 

Pebbles make it hard going; grind, chink
and chime beneath our feet. It’s blazing;
our shoulders bare to this late summer

gift of a day. Drawn to the furthest stack,
we trudge on, eyes alive to gulls and buttery
cliffs. We bear trickles of sweat, marbled,

long for sight of a seal, or dolphin; a rare
sea-bird. Yet after all, we’re not disappointed
to draw a blank, and sink onto this shingle

bed. We’ll sky gaze, wallow in warm stones,
and curve our eyes to a bare-faced sky.