The truth is,
our history is still beautiful
and in reflection, I was grateful
for your photos and the memory.
It looks as if the sands have narrowed
since those celluloid days,
unless the wind has changed
along with the storm-laden sea.
It was ochre red and tipped with white;
painted by the rain.
The water pools in the shallows
as though on a palette;
falling to gravity
and the moon’s tidal whims.
There was a quiet revolution
against the evermore blues…
Amongst the raw beauty,
I looked for your reflection.