Hours

we've an hour
till the ferry goes
spend it on the beach
don't want to let go
of the sea's finger tips

search for pretty shells
still wet bright, to bring back
as those in fairy tales
take gold apples from silver leafed trees
in wizzards' gardens as proof
that they were there

the ferry comes, we watch the island disappear
into blue. The train takes us
to where we began

and as the windows darken
and the harsh street lights jag
once wind smoothed hills
so doubts like magpies come
for the glitter of our dreams

and I think when I wake
I will have more sense than to believe
they will ever be real

then I feel in my pocket the whorl
of a winkle's shell, bring out
it's faded orange, lick it
salt bright again, taste
the sea. In this beauty find the truth again
we can change the present

in the breathed out air of the train
I give it you