The light is soft and shadowed.
A row of ancient beach huts stand
Still and gloomy
Against the black sand.
Memories of naked saints and blue kaftans
This is where bottled prayers crash
against green slippery cliffs
Spilling up over edges and onto roads
Where there used to be paths…
Amazing, isn’t it?
what the tide brings up?
Sometimes though, there are red flowers,
floating in the water, just off the road,
waiting to offer comfort…