before Floris

 bright low disc shining through cool ruffled grey clouds, late sun

caught on purple knapweed and creamy meadowsweet sprays

where our goal opens,  calm's pull

to tranquil west, peace embracing this bay, Saint Ninian's

heron, long and shy, upright in flat water; a curlew, curved beak

dibbling clear shallows. Smooth grey sand then white

white shells, come to rest, testament of many cockle lives

broken into a new grace, at crunchy dry seaweed-dark, laced

with cinquefoil's small yellow flowers and questing stalks

like red liquorice. Gulls seem noble here, hermits

not beggars all must be living with us; even were the sea

empty and their searching faith only, this place is better

dusk is winning and we turn back. A shimmering of chirps 

Swifts! gathered into thrilling tinsel on telphone wires

change is present everywhere, as thoughts fly

far away; at last governments join in offering

to accept Palestine as a state, and hope sparks

a distant light. Over a stone wall, lush grass

homes a pale universe of clover stars

feeding moths with beauty, frail and prehistoric