Sea Side Frolics

I fell far North,
caught in a cradle of clouds, dunes, and an unexpected
human silence.
 
I wandered by day,
following the border of sea and land,
finding routes along lanes, roads, and field bound tracks.
 
At times, during dead winter nights,
I stood on my frosty balcony, staring into the pitch,
hearing only the nearby sea;
 
it has such a task,
rumbling all night, its roar heightened

in night’s quietude.
 
I perched on the margins of my world,  
a pigeon, with wakeful eyes
scanning the homely horizon where the sun rises,
 
and the moon, where birds flock
to their nighttime rocky roost,

on the sea encircled Emblestones.
 
Here, the world is frayed, the edge of a worn carpet,

threads of blue, red, green and yellow.

And the elements distilled, laid bare—
 
they hug, enclose, wrestle and subdue.
The darkened village spreads her arms, taking me  
into her empty embrace.
 
Freed from excess layers of clothes, I roamed,  
untroubled, on the wide

unspoiled beach.