Blind Expanse

A dog barks
a happy, tail-wagging bark.
I taste salt and seaside
dampness on the air.

Underfoot
stones turn to solid sand;
marram grass stabs at my hand,
the rough of ragwort.

Soft the ground slides.
Land loses cohesion
at the shore.
Shoes fill.

Wind-whip grains
against my cheek blast
the sough and spray of surf.
High birdcalls sweep the wind clean.

The next step and the next unsure,
for here all steps have depth
as well as length. Stride
is determined by

geological time
and countless grains
on shifting continents.
Here sound is breadth of beach,

each scent a feast of fish and weed,
each shell a story in my ear
and all the light I can wish for
in my mind.