the sky is the palest grey
kissing a sea that is more the colour of water than of sea,
carrying ripples of peace to us landers,
gifting us with the secrets which the sky
whispers as they kiss.
people walk in dyads and triads, or with dogs or toddlers or larger family groups,
starting their new year with one another and the sea air
blowing freshness into their hopes for the three hundred and sixty six days to come –
if we see them all…
how many will surely pass us without recall.
I claim every day
I breathe I feel I think I listen –
to waves to chatter to my breath to music to TfL announcements
I will live.
I will. be. here.
Though the raging waves
spray salt in your face,
hurting the cuts which cover your lips
from biting your tongue to hold truths in.
As the winds whirl around you,
whipping hair into your eyes and
lashing your vulnerable skin,
drawing tears of blood to run down your cheeks.
While you shake and shiver as
coldness seeps deep into your being,
tensing your body and spirit.
Through stinging, lashing and shaking
The waves will still,
The wind will calm,
And the warmth will return to your
thoughts and bones.
And then you will realise this truth;
A truth born out in the molecules of the universe,
A truth which is true when feelings are not…
Salt purified you.
Tears released your pain.
And that cold,
that wearying, biting, cold,
That cold preserved you.
No one questions why someone is sitting,
At the sea.
At the sea,
this act of
with one’s thoughts.
Doing that in a cafe in London makes
people will think you’re a weirdo.
Brighton Beach, 26.5.19