press along the coast, 

crawling closer and closer to the loose sand 

that blows in the coastal breeze.

Sand gets trapped under your fingertips, 

collecting at the bottom of your bag. 

Seagulls filter out the gusts from the harsh winds, 

and screams of childhood folly echo from down the beach…

If you could stay, you would, you’d find a hideaway cave 

to sprawl in, call home, make your own. 

The tide is as restless as you, 

it knows why you linger on its shores, 

it knows you’re not from around here,

so you dive,

deep into the blue, 

to see how long you can stay conscious,

as iridescent bubbles gurgle around you.

You listen out for the snapping of shrimp, the distant

clicks and whistles of blue whales, anything to conceal

the voices that wait for you on the surface.