Korrision ii

It was not the beach we thought it was

Just dried out ribbon strips

Harvested and banked

Silvered in the sun

Carpeting our way to the sea.

Tell-tale signs of industry

Greying wood shack, old motor scooter

And a rudimentary canal entrance to the lake

No bridging point to speak of.

We play at philosophy and consider;

Fact never tainted this island

Let the myths create its history

Playfulness of Gods on every face

In every smile through every season

No expectancy, no haste, no need

Just the gentle opening of a deity’s eye

And the subtle stretching of limbs

As each new dawn praises the last sunset.

The shoreline formation

Gurns its way round to sandy seclusion

Skin whimpers under high factor shelter

We smooth each other with care and survey,

Stripped, she harvests the Sun

From a respectable distance

We ponder her possibility as muse;

Decide to follow our own path.