This is a poem in black and white
a ‘noir’ piece of hoped impress,
not a lino cut from a gallery I can’t afford.
As an ear pressed to a shell
in the small of your back,
I hear waves running to colour arrival.
My palm read by inner thigh
all the truth of Heart and Life lines
leave footprints in the wet sand
for the pounding surf to collect.
Wandering the estuary,
I know where we are
I can always see this.