Quicksilver

Standing in the silver beard of the beach within the reach of

Ocean foam that rushes past my calves to grab the sand

Under the crooks of my toes so that I am suddenly ungrounded

They tug away like a carpet and it’s pattern slants away 

For a moment I am tricked into thinking I will fall as the waves

Deform and pull away rapidly and take a sprinkle of memory

Back to the deep blue seam where wreckages sink into rest.

Suddenly I realise I am ok now. Broken hearted poems

Are everywhere leaving a trail in the stretch of shifting sand.

What a cliche to be erased and to be destroyed. 

It is time to write something new.