After the Beach
Black rock parts the sand,
sleek as porpoise fins
poised for the depths
or launched from prehistory.
We buried ourselves here,
accumulated like time
or metal work, the sand
shuffled out of geography.
The ship on the horizon
pulls us into its nets.
Neither of us drew the map:
here be dragons, farewells.
You may as well wonder
when the rock was whole.
We resided here for months
visited daily, spying guillemots
and oystercatchers
skimming above the water line
the edge furious as static.
A rock arch crumbles
like the ancient church roof,
its cemetery grown over
with yarrow and borage
the grey marble hands
pressed into a prayer
for the other life, the one
leaving blisters in the sand.
And so we try to beat the tide,
heading for an island,
as it slipped quickly underwater.
Daniel Bennett was born in Shropshire and lives and works in London. His poems have been published in numerous places, including Black Box Manifold and Structo, and his first collection West South North, North South East was published in 2019. He's also the author of the novel, All The Dogs. His website is http://absenceclub.com
