Sea a stretch of pink
shot silk, creasing and uncreasing
under the slow
masked ebb of the sun.
The break-water’s neck cool,
up-stretched.
The cormorants close
and unflex their wings
like umbrellas.
Everyone’s gone home.
I get in on my own,
wade out, against
the heavily pushing waves –
like huge cats,
dunk a little, and dive
then breaking the surface,
swimming under
then up the other side
of the next slope.
I do it again and again,
turn. Wait till there’s one
rising; it’s shadow
falls briefly over me;
plunge riding – my hands
round the pure, curly
neck of the breaker,
forging ahead,
then slowing, as we reach
the shallow waters.
I paddle on my front,
till I can feel
the ground with my hands,
support myself, turning
to glance up
the beach, floating on my hands
Before I haul myself
out, walk back in,
run back in, raising
my knees till it’s too deep.
Fall into the playful
swell, and duck under, roll
on my back,
tickled and drunk
on beauty, home.