Mike Snape – Sentences I
A trail of fragile footsteps
left upon the darkened sand.
The beach, an arm, resting
with the easy curve of a sleeper.
Hard ridges remain from the tide’s
retreat, the trenches carved by
millions of trailing fingers.
They withstand a foot’s pressure…
well they resisted the weight of the sea.
The mountains across the strait draw
clouds towards them, which, billowing
from left to right, seem the thick
smoke of a signal fire, smudged
across the sky by a great fist.
Their ghostly embrace covers Yr Wyddfa.
Above the sky is clear.
Scattered across the sand figures
are moving, engrossed in various
preoccupations. Nothing unexpected.
The openness shrinks them, the distant
mountains loom over them, the parallel
entities of sky and beach observe them
indifferently. Their voices are lost
and they move slowly, regardless of their
- Posted in: Poetry