Pinpoint the beginning of the ocean.
First, nothing special:
A donkey and a cabled cream cardigan.
Elephant skin sea and, on the same day, and ambulance,
jigsawed with crayons on the living-room carpet.
Then, lemonade bottles,
filled with rituals and warm water,
dappling Paisley between obediently outstretched fingers.
Handstands on hot sand
-three whole paces forward –
and pebbly pearls.
My sister, wide-eyed in bathing outfits frilled like seaweed
And lacy waves sparkling on sand-sinking toes.
Fast-forward to an oversized yellow t-shirt,
shingle, sea-mist and hot chocolate, shivering in towels.
Gloss over it, stopping at a Knickerbocker Glory in front of a wide bay,
and leave dreams here forever.
Cling on through sandstorms grazing protruding bones
and thin smiles, stretched wide
but not meeting eyes
and then stumble across the splintered groins where
time and tide turn against and disappear.
Last – because you won’t want to leave – arrive at glassy sheets embossing taffeta sand, meeting cashmere sky
in a faultless line.
Everything exactly as it should be,
as we dance upon the shores of the story of the sea.