Imagine these shells are new shoots growing
In the bright grin of March, early morning
With the wide sky like this walker, yawning.
The year whispers ‘I know where I’m going’
And this sense of shift, of change, is growing
That spring is settling in with the dawning
Ignoring the half-light’s shadowed warning.
The year is turning: the sea is glowing
On the blank page of newness. Seabirds bob
On the water like small trawlers sleeping
And dreaming of summer while now, and here,
The year’s first clear morning does a fine job
Of riding through time on tide’s horse, keeping
Track of the days as they stroll down the pier.