We could hear it
before the shutters were open,
the wind on the beach.
Then we found miniature sand dunes
on the concrete of the balcony
and a dead leaf zig-zagging,
scratching an urgent message in Sanskrit
before hitching a ride on a frisky gust.
A plastic bag caught by a rail
rearing to go, in such a flap
we set it free
to join a page of last week's news
racing high above the undulating beach,
and the invisible flying sand
casting a fast moving shadow
stroking the beach clean.
Yesterday's footprints vanished,
replaced by smooth rippling wave formations,
a copy of the sea.
No one walking,
not even the dogs.
A day for the rubbish to dance.
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