Findhorn / by Alex Williamson

A hiking boot delivered by the sea:
beached and kippered, almost box new.
Then a shod, sodden, grey hoodie -
pockets ripped out - and hidden from view

by seagrass a woman's silver watch,
leather strapped to a slim carpus;
and under its brine-filmed face, the twitch
of a hand moving beneath the glass.

Then behind the dunes the rusting car,
keyed ignition waiting for the ghost
of the driver to return, put it in gear,
depart the place she found to get lost.