By Kirsty A. Niven
A winding walk condensed to a gull’s squeal and the sea’s whispers
and you waiting with baited breath.
A naked pebble, longing for the salt’s tender touch.
A hand outstretched, pale and quivering –
the rod to reel me in.
Passersby float past us unknowing, with feet trickling
along miracle routes –
a shimmering sea of silver, fenced off,
keeping an untimely balance.
“I love you,” we murmur in time with one another.
The Sun shrinks back into her clear sky,
leaving after another match made well.