Dark against flint rock,
two starfish cling, splayed –
against the swell of sub aqueous egg white
Blind to the ‘forget me not’ sky
and the pull of white birds stream-lining the surf.
These silent stars
crustate in their icy nest;
tentacles linked they squat, defying the yawning undersea.
Above the world jettisons to sea and sky
and a black dog hurtles to catch.
I turn, wheeling from silver water to stone crag
finding in this moment – pure joy.
The green gorse fronting its yellow flower
the babble and fizz of water on sand on stone.
The starfish hold tight.
One left tentacle has loosened, waving in the billowing wind.
But the tide is turning,
swirling foam eddying over my feet –
an ooze of sand-sponge
Across the car park – the sea wall calls…
I join the motorway crawl I wonder – do starfish have eyes.