Journey Poem by Alan Dolan

You carried your smile that day
Over wild-shifting shingle
Which felt your unfinished hand
Dig to feel new-cold damp-smooth textures.

Looking not at the lovely terns;
For they hold no mystery,
Cannot be touched, fly away
Into their own shifting space.

Yet the gulls found a place
In your consciousness,
Demanding attention in their
Threat-screaming swerve-hurtling
Complaining at our trespass.

And returning you slept,
Waking with others at the coach jerk
For a soaring buzzard;
And soon asleep again,
Tired, unselfconscious, unaware
Of your open-mouthed drooling,
Busily dreaming the day
Into your mind forever.