The Stag Upon The Brean Peninsula: I

Eve’ning’s darkdusk
sunken flame –
the hid horizon heralds night.
Crepusculuminescence, in
late-lilt of dissipation,
fades.
lingers.

Lapped waves wash, broken-crested –
I am young.
Fifteen?
Half my life ‘n more re-wound,
I’m now –
still –
upon this path on jutting ground
‘tween sands,
the rock beneath me reaching seaward;
south ‘n west.

A walk a-from a campsite
minutes ‘way, where
we
(Dad; Brother; Son ‘n Son)
three were staying
with a tent ‘n a red Toyota
‘n a shit guitar –
this steep-sided lump of land,
beach-bordered.

I am now
on ahead. I’m
off in front from
where they walk;
from where they are ‘n
when they were
where we walked
once upon a time.

Solitary,
striding on
‘midst stream of consciousness.


Image credit Guillen

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