Who is Elsie – dead or alive?
I know she loved this beach
and swam here, rain or shine,
And I see her now white plaits
tangled with the wind
bouncing down the machair,
white clover and daisies
leaping up in her wake
to stare as she leaves
a hand-knitted Norwegian jumper
and faded denim shorts
neatly folded on a flat slap of granite
beside serious shoes and with no time to lose
Elsie is dancing in the turquoise sea,
rippling as the breeze.
She is rock, she is lichen,
she is salt, she is sand,
she is sea-bound,
she is weed, she is bird,
she is bee
she is cresting the waves of my being,
here at Elsie’s beach.
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