Helen Clare
Bolinas Beach
At first the mist wipes away
only the base of the landscape ahead
like polish on a picture glass
but as we walk it rises,
dissolves away hill and sky,
until all is gone
but one small dark Corot tree.
It scrolls beside me
up buddleia-covered sandstone slopes,
rolls behind and soon
just the dark frond edges of the sea are left.
There is nothing now
but mist, the sweep of the sea, cold sand
between my toes.
Your call cuts through.
You have spotted a sign - Groin -
pose grinning, knees splayed.
I snap.
Page(s) 35
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