The wind from the beach
howls up the fern-lined path
The gay cornet player
in a derelict hut
practises “Taps”
for a Canucks’ game
Crows hover above
to see if I’m still alive
The walk down to shore
below was not worth it:
rocks, rubbers &
spray-painted lighthouses
The view from this
mossy log is far better
Overhead the trees sigh
like surf-collapsed lungs
as a bottle-picker ascends the
pine-cone path of a Thomas Hardy novel
Here there is time enough to
give Beach Trail 3 back to the birds