What had seemed a round pool in rising sea,
inexplicable in strong wind and the flow,
is seen, near to, as rather wide wet sand
holding in it large rocks normally submerged.
Dry bar today is huge and almost square,
much of the north side maintaining a vase
tipped over, of grey stone, spilling from it
ochres and purples of lichen and weed unmixed.
Between that and the wrack-littered south beach,
a stiletto knife of sand, blunting itself
on a spur of grey, not quite penetrating
the skin of The Gugh.
Loose bellies of mist
droop over all, shadowy, making dismal
a tiresome day not yet at its noon.
Cause and effect synch together, wordlessly;
such is the fact of Time for rock and wave.
A low ebb is now in full remission
though all that has been done is keeping note.
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