On Lepe Beach

Plovers roam the tidal flats
And hunt amidst the stones;
Peck at snails and seaweed flies,
Inspecting shells and bones.

Low tide exhumes a graveyard of
Volutes and clam-shell valves,
Anchored deep in sediment,
In memoriam of themselves.

Rotting timbers jut like teeth
From sand packed hard as stone;
Banks of rotting seaweed mark
The high tide’s fleeting home.

Pools disgorge their emerald hoard
As shore crabs flee the light;
Torch beams sweep the tidal plains
And dispossess the night.

With sunlight comes the rising tide;
The spit returns to sea,
Its gravel banks and tidal pools
Are buried by degrees.

Then light, like honeycomb, divides
The shallow lucent waters;
Translucent shrimp in ghostly forms
Now haunt their swallowed quarters.