Poem 452

I wanted to vividly evoke a simple image of watching the sun go down into the sea but also encapsulate some sense of shared human experience on these islands … I like to imagine a lot of New Zealanders could relate to this with its implications of camping and a long sunburnt day behind you …

( I like the image of the last flash of sun as a gold-rimmed plate and its connection to washing dishes in the water with sand when camping … )

Beach Sunset

A lifted
hand
to sun
a globe
a gasp
of breath
last wash of foam
across the land
before rest
beneath feet soaking sand
fleeing to sea
in grainy streams
blur of grain between shoulders
old green bones and blades of hills
the still ornament of evening
cold coiling air
birds scratched against the glare
engraved glass shell of sky
like a cover on a meal just eaten
scraps congealed on the old gold
rimmed plate of sun
last of the service
that dips the glaze of its face
into foam
and is scrubbed all night long with a fist
of sand