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.