Across The
Sands
From the dark deserted car park, as near as I could get
a thin light, just after dawn
boots in powdered sinking sand, over windswept dunes
scratchy marram on my legs, scrambling along the bank
to drop down into the sweeping bay, cradled among
circling coastal cliffs
to hear the strong sea shouting, roaring, its white
rollers whipped up over distance
competing with the howling, growling wind, which whips
and whistles
blustering bursts of rain in flurries, the soaking
wetness coming sideways
tramping unsteadily across the shingle, crunching pebbles
under darkling skies
black clouds boiling, scudding, before venturing onto the
flatness
of the damp and sucking sand, the final steps to reach
him
to stand and stare at his hugeness, his stranded shape
mountain size, black-grey, blubbery
a clouded eye, an open mouth, serried sets of teeth
twisted tail, salty stench of decomposition
his rotting flesh a temptation to the circling, screaming
gulls
The persistent crashing of the waves
an ebbing tide that stretches up the beach, rippling
fingers that fail to make contact
to claw him back into the rolling deepness, time after
time, losing strength and reach
whereas I can merely stand here, stretch out and touch
him
feel his dead, swollen body
my fingers on his flesh, a simple gentle gesture
whilst I whisper the only word I can think of:
sorry
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