Bouquet by the beach
Wet wool hangs raw from barbs on a fence
where the smell of sheep had gathered,
ferns uncurl in woods to hide bluebells,
their fragrance sketched all over the air.
A thousand flowers of hawthorn open,
tiny stamens like dots of dust
on a perfect white cloth.
On cliffs where water falls sea pinks hug slate,
make thrift in abundance, overlaying
seaweed traces on a breeze.
Salt stings your lips, ties knots in your hair,
tickles your nose, fills your head.
In the café a caramel cookie rests
wide and flat, sweet and delicate in its thinness,
on a bone china plate; fragments of chocolate
soften in the sun,
and there is coffee. I breathe through the steam,
catch scents of chocolate, of bluebells, and the sea.