A fragment of beach.
Smooth sands, pristine
and untouched by foot or crab.
Not even the gentle Pacific
allows its waves to roll in
as far as this. I see Emilia
at a great distance, having
wobbled with her bucket and spade
to the end of the world.
She turns thoughtfully,
one sandy finger in her mouth,
worry written all over her face.
Birds land at a fair distance.
Approach with in-turned toes
until they feel uneasy. Cock
their heads. Look at me.
Look at her, and chatter.
A small patch of perfection
invites a formal gathering.
A German-born UK national, Rose Mary Boehm lives and works in Lima, Peru. Author of two novels and seven poetry collections, her work has been widely published in US poetry journals. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/
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