Something beautiful on the tide.
A dark purpling quickfire
swirling on a surge of light
and beyond my reach.
It stays just so, a finger away,
though it says such beautiful things.
The beautiful thing on the tide
deflects an ocean's yearning.
It glides so deftly along.
It stoppers engagement.
On the invisible ebb of the tide
it will whirl away.
On a perverse twitch of the tide
it will sway, it will dance away.
It is a slippery key to the world that I hold
in my fool's life.
I was thinking:
so this is your enchantment
so this is your nudge and your wink
so this is how a fleeting instant
pricks, betraying the innocence of the wave...
Tomorrow I will look
for the beautiful thing on the tide.
For the colour in its envenomed lure.
I will see quickfire, dapple-warped,
then that, too, will vanish from me,
on a random tide.
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OTHER WRITING BY PETE HAY