"Slipping Away" by Beth Brooke

Tide ebbs, exposes the rocky shore

and the stranded detritus of the voyage.

The smell of the sea lingers,

like the memory of an evening enjoyed with friends

in a room just out of reach until the eyes close

and summoning voices are left to lead the way.

Lungs forget their deepness, breath

becomes an intermittent breeze that gentles,

gathers itself

before it breathes again.

Hands, cool to the touch, tug and clutch

but cannot stop the retreat of water

that once carried them, a bloom on amniotic seas,

from the place of their beginning.

The mouth softens to a closing sigh

so quiet, the watchers do not hear it go.

Beth Brooke is a retired teacher. She lives in Dorset. Her debut collection, A Landscape With Birds will be published by Hedgehog Press later this year.