Seafolk

 
 
Seafolk
 
to sea,
across sand like a desert,
feet bed down.
We skip between seaweed,
litter, surfers  
side-saddle South  
surf-mocking waves.
They body board beats,
we turn back and jump them,
foam surrounds hips,
bearded, exposed faces.
I run to clothing,  
indented low-tide prints go  
in both directions now.
A camera returns,  
snaps moments.
There's an unprotected phone,
held by frozen, sodden hands.
Out in grey I watch her,
pink hat, black costume,  
blue eyes, sea-spray,
everything is enclosed  
within the cliffs.
The bay makes a Goddess of her,
or she of it,
and in stop frame
we are grounded,
plain and simple,  
seafolk.