Seascape

In the eldritch half-light,

herald of coming darkness,

we leave the road

and descend.

A stony staircase,

a muddy footpath,

the empty beach

in the gloaming.

Standing motionless on a shingle bank,

momentarily one with

the magnificent solitude

of pebbles, grey and the ebbing

shushing sea.

The lights on the distant island

and over at Fawley refinery

alone attest to life

as we mark our homeward path

with a track of boot and paw prints

in the sand,

till a blackbird begins to pipe his farewell

to the day

in clear sharp notes

that make a cleft in the silence.