At Cley…

a sigh
of seeding grasses
purple-mists the marshes
where sea touches shingle
with a salty, osculating tingle.
Flagrantly expansive August sky –
empty of birds but clouds sail by –
breathes sun-warmed rusty seaweed,
samphire and yellow agrimony,
and then blows harder in an attempt to float
a sea-loving, pebble-beached boat.

Kim M. Russell, 2017

At Cley.JPG

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2 thoughts on “At Cley…

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