Was it you who called me here today?
I don’t know any more what is real and what is imagined.
All this talk of scallop shells and Ouroboros.
I am so transformed that I have stopped being me
and become more myself than ever.
I think that you would be proud.
August 3rd, but it could have been October if I didn’t know better,
but I do.
Are you here?
I look for you as the road rises up
Over the endless escarpments, through the dips and the swales.
My feet are eager to get lost in the comforting rhythm of walking.
I follow the glistening Cuckmere, as it spirals, serpent like.
Can I hear you?
This liminal channel, a rivulet of chalk leads me
Through saltmarshes and disgorges me onto the shoreline.
Vegetated shingle erupts in constellations of sea lavender,
Illuminous against the stark face of Haven Brow.
Where are you?
I think I thought you’d be here
In the waves and the rolling shingle. In the space in between.
I trace my fingers along the seams of imperfections.
Nothing is permanent.
