Crossing

here, the sand is soft underfoot, a far cry
from the pebbles of my childhood beaches,
where the shingle is stacked tall, a rocky bank to run down,
the stones hard, feet sinking,
wincing
squealing
from car to water, standing at the water’s edge, watching the waves
roll in and out.

here, the golden sand

stretches for miles, the water

blue and green, a world away from the grey, muddy water where once
we floated on our backs like starfish, the sun still warm at gone seven
and it felt like another place –

I am home now, here,
where I have crossed the bridge between two worlds
and where my wings are set free and the weight of the past has flown.

here, the sand is soft underfoot.

my feet sink down, rooting me here.

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land meets sea meets river

land meets sea meets river
narrows to a thin snake,
penned in by sandbanks and creeks,
wriggling to the side, becoming
a pinpoint, nothing
quay quay jetty quay
docks jetties quay quay
in the mouth
a dance.

Names strange
to the tongue:
Polkerris, Polglaze, Polpey
pond, lake or well
Tregaminion, Trezare, Tregear
settlement or homestead
Penhale, Penpol, Penleath
hill or headland
Washing, Blackbottle, Killyvarder,
the sailors warning.

The Saint’s Way
meets the Coast Path
wriggling
along the changing coastline
disappearing
over the crease
of the folded page.