East Anglian equinox 2002
The equinox turns bracken on its back,
tides lap at the cliff.
Sandmartins have fled, nests laid open
trickle their small debris.
Swans fly in like bombers,
low and heavy, the broad wrinkling under their feet.
Last weeks seal turning to lick a fin, lies drying,
eyes clear now, stiff as tide packed sand.
The dogs nose into putrescence.
Black planes, high up, disconnect the sky
coming and going, shadows moving across
the sand like clouds, the roar
The percussioned edge of flint, held tight;
a seal turning, licking the same fin;
a dog chasing his tail. The sky creases as wave upon
The bracken lies down under the wind, birds fly in.