Burgh Island

grey skies and ochre sands
call me like aching sirens to romp across
them to a place who’s
bricks and mortar share no secrets

jagged rocks litter the landscape

like gasping humpbacks

taking a last breath

before their descent

 

trawling up the grassy verge

the sound of childrens

laughter caught on the wind,

growing short of breath

 

over the sheer edge

swell as dark as navy rum

persistantly eats the opposing dirt,

adding to the already opaque broth

 

reaching the peak

you are rewarded with shelter,

in which, ideas germinate in

regards to its birth