Findhorn

 

A hiking boot delivered by the sea:

Beached and kippered, almost box new.

Then a shed, sodden, grey hoodie -                                              

Pockets ripped out - and hidden from view

 

By sea grass a woman's silver watch,

Circumference fixed to a slim carpus;

Behind the brine-filmed face, the twitch

Of a hand moving beneath the glass.

 

Then beyond the dunes the rusting car,

Keyed ignition waiting for the ghost

Of the driver to return, put it in gear,

Depart the spot she sought to stay lost.