Portobello Beach 22/04/20
In a pandemic head for the sea,
where the waves still gently stroke the shore,
as they did before
the sands shifted and our feet floundered
See the footprints in the sand –
bare foot, booted foot,
paw of dog and the arrow print of bird,
pointing to Fife
We walk alone with purposed stride,
rocking our loneliness from left to right,
letting our worry breathe with the rhythm of the waves,
launching anger to the vast blue sky
No buckets and spades or walls of sand
to hold back the water,
there is no stopping this tide,
no play but the marks of a wee dog
having a wee dig
beside the broken razor shell
In a pandemic head for the sea,
the soft sand holding your feet,
until we meet
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