The Dead Legs of the Pier
Stray leaves,
Freed from the tangle of bracken limbs
Teaming with Autumn trim.
The tawny tracks,
Flecks of black,Lost,
Amongst the scatter and the flak.
And the boil in the slap of waves,
Paved with timber and slack,
Lashes flecked with salt and sand.
Hands that hang
And a cold stance,
Like lead.
Thoughts fed by the sprawl of the sea,
The scent of deadened current,
The stroke of the breeze
And the spoil of waking thoughts.
The life in the stale gloam
Stones, that dashed the film of grey,
And the love that stayed the weight, of a once eternal carnal slate.
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