By Orla Cowan
let me give you reason to run rhyming down the beach
horizon your eyeline: claggy timeline of sea over sky
gulls like gills flit with waves so rousing
seas right through you, all you know
is now – thrown off towel
succumb sparring lungs with every, each –
sandy second of the upturned
hourglass, momentary
motionless ocean
enclosed in a conch, an echoed Irish ‘ach’
rush of a last wave goodbye
salt-pinched toes meet
shell-shocked sand with a crun ‘ch’ –
hold hand up to face
breathe out, aspired ‘h’ –
Featured Image: Honor Adams
