Winter Beach

The rain is at last convincing, not just
a state of mind. Below the cliffs, my feet
stir mud-soft clay, slide towards islands
of fossilled rock, their crumbling certainty.
Ocean's fresh debris studs leaden sand:
brain-shaped sponge, antlered coral fantasy.
Foam sidles and arcs with a refinement
of energy, streaks back to the ferment
where power surrenders, is reclaimed.
A hidden sun glows in the cliffs' sheer red,
gives each leaf-fringing drop a sliver
of moon. A magpie sharpens its beak on air;
the jab and corkscrew of its call draws me away
from prints filling with watery blue shadow.