‘Make it new‘ – Ezra Pound
After the grinding of the storm
and fierce suck of the tide,
everything comes out different.
Yesterday’s demure sand gardens
are wrecked. Whole acres lie stupefied
and spent, freshly sewn with rocks.
A lagoon has appeared from nowhere
and lies bouncing with blue light.
Overnight, the river has given birth
to a delta, pristine sandbanks
where a whole chapter of shags and guillemots
assemble like Tudor bishops.
With tireless invention the beach
pulls seawrack, like novel sentences,
out of the deep grammar of the ocean
scattering kelp around like runes.