The day holds its breath: the dawn’s tide
fronts the night’s ebb.
Spilling light like golden Viking helmets,
Bright roused rays muster beyond the sea’s
horizon;
Piercing night’s defences, they charge the
swells and troughs.
Lulled away by light, night has loitered
long enough.
Shadows shrink sneeze-fast in the tang of
salty air.
The lichen on the duirling boulders blushes sun.
A mist as cool as ice-dust lingers in the
trees.
A stubby-beaked blue tit lisps among the
furred leaves,
upside-down, twittering grey, blue, white
and yellow.
A sleek brown stoat with a black tuft at
his tail tip
sears after a rabbit who swirls to the sand
dunes.
The peaty lake holds an apparition of sky.
Blending with the green, gold and rufous
blots of time,
Lost in the primeval womb-flow of breaking
dawn,
A fisherman stands still in the ephemeral.
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