Largo Bay

Largo Bay

Dream.
Of a place where time
moves according to the tides alone.
In, out.
It is as though the very sea
is simply breathing.
I walk due east. Largo Bay
enveloping the sky into the beach;
a letter to be delivered
as an act of jaw dropping
soliloquy.
Doing justice to this place
would take Wordsworth
in bed with Yorke,
holding a brush with Monet
and a baton with Elgar.
Possibly.
Largo Bay can’t solve
life’s conundrums.
It can iron them out though
and help make sense of them.
So I walk taller,
my world beside me,
my next step forward on
a beach full of gold.


A X

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