Christmas Day 2012: Brighton Beach

Crunch of pebbles – clean and sharp

As this cold blue winter sky

And your new red scarf tugging

 

In the wind.  We are alone –

Imagine indoor people

Still picking on turkey –

 

But we have come with a gift

And stand, braced against the wind,

Unlidding the wooden box

 

As if we were the Magi.

This does indeed hold treasure.

You puncture the bag; the wind

 

Snatches its gift.  And now,

Like smoke, the precious ashes

Stream along the beach, just as

 

Not long ago, Toby ran,

The crashing sea in his ears,

As the puppy longs to do.