Relief as the darkness enfolds.
The edge of a strange planet where white waves roll in,
a sheen on the sea, obsidian.
Wisps of milky cloud, bright lights in a flotilla, spangle that delineate the pier.
The bright lights of the pier are my grandparents.
The sand whitens as I close in on the promenade,
reaches the top of the sea wall, almost buries a bench,
the bunch of red roses still in their cellophane sheath.