Easter, low tides, to get further down
the beach, study the life of the littoral zone.
To dig sea potatoes, heart urchins, catch
edible, spider and velvet swimming crabs.
The hotel on the headland, woken
the first morning by the bleat of sheep
sheltered behind the low wall
from the blizzard of snow.
Crabs and mussels cooked in cider
over a driftwood fire, washed down
with more cider, couples drift away
into darkness under towering cliff.
Found those same fragile hearts
as far apart as Ynyslas and Luskentyre
wrapped and carried them reverentially
home and added to the collection.
Later, a summer sunbathing, swimming,
trudging up and down the beach path.
Rock pooling, building sand castles
the incoming tide always washes away.
Now, step on stones across a river,
drown in wild garlic deep in the woods.
Watch the tragic comedy of a duck
that tried, but failed, to eat a frog.
Hang gliders cruise edge of cliff in front
of setting sun, disappear behind the wall
that the sheep sheltered behind, we dine,
in a restaurant, that was once a laboratory.