Beach

In the heat she buried toes,
caught a crab and ran
under the tunnels of fallen stones,
filled a bucket with sea, shells and sand.

Most of the morning she wore a flat-peak,
dug a hole deep as to fill with cool water,
watched a seagull, on a cockle home, peck
drew a line with a flat rock about metre.

In the later afternoon we made the journey back
up the cliff-face worked in by muscle and foot,
to food, showers, bed, according to the clock,
noted the blue of the sky now a late white riot.

I thanked the day for your peaceful frame,
the way the sunlight lit your face,
I thanked the car for taking us home,
and the luxury of distance and choice.