The tide turned
Creeping slowly over the banks
Of sand. Of shingle.
Pools formed at the end
Of the breakwaters. Covered-
Patches of greens and blacks bore the taunting stories
Countless bubbles freed
From the sand
Trapping in the air.

Oh the moon! The moon.
A swathe of cloud
that came too soon
Blanking out the starlit sky.
Then the air grew colder
And smears of mist
Began to form
The painted skin
Glittering dew all over it.
New bribery.

Sent from my iPhone