The house by the sea

Winter leaves a land

of still anticipation,

bathed in orange light.

~

Biscuits, coffee, nestled in

his ship – a cutter perched on rusty

barrels, small before the sun.

~

A nearby nest of lanes – the garden

done, she heads to yellow flames, as coldness comes,

and cuts, and the colours merge to grey.

~

And as they sink within the

night, I think of them, the single house,

the trees and whispering sea.

~

When I return, the

smiles will be warm, and I will

find a part of me.