Alnmouth

Dawn mists shift
across the ebbing water -

on Bracken Hill -
the tang of dew damp fern,
the stink of seaweed.

Stillness darkens
like a wave's cold edge
the moment before its slow, glittering fission.

What breathes,
closer than the surging ocean?

Beyond the wind sifting grasses
heavy wings murmur,
from salt reeds a swan rises,

glinting silver in the deepening blueness:
a fading star,
a dreamed coherence.

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