Salt-spray foam glided over shell and stone
with all else still despite the season.
I cleansed my lips to taste the day
dropped my gaze, blocked out the grey
counted colours; speckled pinks and starfish golds
spotted blacks, like poppy seeds dotted
on part-weathered stones. I stopped
to silence the crunch of boots, to break
the beat that stifled my senses.
In a moment of peace, all fingers
and thumbs, I touched, I felt
I held it all.
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This is great Helen, very atmospheric.
A strong poem, Helen.