still dark

warm bed

gulls call for the dawn

thoughts drift south to the sea

 

at the station

air cold hard as concourse floor

travellers hunched into jackets

 

my walk begins past closed shops

a morning delivery

six wheelie bins outside flat 28B

an eruption of tarmac

tree’s roots bursting

through the fractured crust

two blackbirds bickering

Silverdale Road

first sight of a still sea 

 

the west wind has combed the winter trees 

down the bare back of the hill

the sea is yards of French-grey silk 

woven through with silver threads

 

the weight of everything behind me

the miles of earth left to walk