Evening, Sandwich Bay


sandwich bay


Returning to the whispers of the tide,

Displacing sand and stones, I trundle down.

Silt scatters underfoot. The salty reeds

Thirst at my shins,


Scrape my bare legs. The air is vaster here,

I cannot say: it’s wider than a gasp,

Fresher than sky. At the indigo hour,

The cool expanse


Returns me with the whispers of the tide:

Displaced like sand and silt beneath my shins,

Scattered among the salt and thirsting reeds,

I trundle down.



I have very fond memories of Sandwich Bay, in Kent, from my childhood right up to the present day. I hoped to invoke, through rhythm and sibilance, the motion of descending the bank of shells and stones, pebbles and sand, to reach the widening shore at low tide one evening.