Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 344

Girvan Beach

The sea slackens. Disturbs
long rumpled ribbons of kelp.
Sometimes the moon. Mountain pale.

All that light going out.
Then only the sea. Always arriving.
Wave after wave plunges a muted roar.

As a boy I'd think:
let there always be time for this.
Meaning more time for me.
Now I am here. Changed. Unchanged.

This is the sound of memory.
These the surfaces of remembrance.
Thoughts like stones skip and drown.

Mark Gallacher

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