and the highest of tides
crest and balance along your side,
and render these ships asunder
under the dark and pressing thunder.

for i see the warmth in the light of that drowning,
that sparkling thunder abounding,
of rains and passing clouds, only a heart-shaped breach
holds the ethos of your sorrow, always shifting,
ever out of reach.

Every time I drift
something always carries me
back to your embrace.

Your absence
laps
at my shore
like a
f o r g e t f u l tide;
some days
it stays
                                   out,
letting me
breathe,
letting me
be-
other days,
it makes up for this,
swamping me
in a
tsunami,
and all I
can do
is
keep my
eyes
trained on land.

You are the moon.
Please return soon.

Euphoria of returning to
the old seaside cocoon.
The place of change and shift
of heart and mind,
and tide which
pushed the town
right back
in January.

The next day we looked out at the promenade
in pieces like an emptied out jigsaw box
but cheered for postponed exams
so we could cherish important things,
like a night out at the Pier, and long talks.

Returning back
finding it’s still
just the same
as the train parts
through the hills
and forward
to the dead end
that began it all.