We could hear it
before the shutters were open,
the wind on the beach.
Then we found
miniature sand dunes
on the concrete of the balcony
and a dead leaf
zig zagging,
scratching an urgent message
in s anskrit
before hitching a ride
on a frisky gust,
a plastic bag
caught by a rail
rearing to go,
in such a flap
we set it free
to join a page of last week's news
racing high
above the undulating beach,
and the invisible flying sand
casting a fast moving shadow
stroking the beach clean.
Yesterday's footprints vanished,
replaced by smooth rippling
wave formations,
a copy of the sea.
No one walking
not even the dogs.
A day
for the rubbish to dance.
