Echoes

Salt water jewels:
the brine polished these pebbles;
still they shine for me

*

The many and the few:
these I could not bear to pass—
colours of the sea

On Firle Beacon

Cradled in a cauldron of beacon-top sky, 
Falling towards the stars as we fall towards sleep.
A moment of stillness becomes a hush of caught breath,
Contemplation of suddenly pointed ears, nose, eyes,
There, on the threshold of the alien night,
Paused with mistrust a moment, then gone.

The edge of summer

The evening's measured out in hoofbeats:
Reined in, held to a steady pace;
For glib June is pulling a half-length ahead,
And the thudding refrain of the bay sweeps
Of a sunny field across water's race
Tugs and teases like the summer's edge.