by Christopher Whyte

Pen to Print Poetry Competition 2018/19 Highly Commended.

Somewhere along the Estuary,
We sit for a long while.
The vast landscape engulfing me
Outstretched for miles and miles.
Seagrass smiles on our faces
We talk well in to dusk.
Fleeting moments – in these places –
Desperately cling to us.

There are certain complications
That grow (sticky) in time:
Only foggy declarations
Get brought in with the tide.
So, hand in mine returned to sand
And washed away with waves.
In that moment – there – in South Hams
Our week turns to one last day.

We listen out, and watch the waves
Crashing for one last time.
Huddled in the make-shift enclave
Of loves cruel pantomime
We bury our heads in the sand
But see as clear as day,
Earth’s long order (and South Hams’)
Of eventual decay.

For those few minutes we conquered
There, we began to float.
And all became unanchored then
Like an old fishing boat
Unfurl the sail into darkness
As I make this your concern:
The thoughts I’m unable to harness
In eternal return

Copyright Christopher Whyte 2019