running into a northerly breeze
along the crook of the shoreline
maybe they'd been sent with precise instructions
re. space and time
so possibly it was chance
that one of them dared a sideways glance
now somewhere in his swansdown dreams
can he feel
the grip of toe and heel in the soft sand
and
bending into a slate-grey sky
looking up
wondering at the flyers-by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem