by Diane Jackman

between at the water’s edge I see him skim a stone across the waves it bounces four five times sinks into the ebb tide waves roll in break on the shingle there is no seventh wave grey sky and grey sea I see him bend to choose again draw back his arm familiar the stone flies against the sand-cliffs the wandering dog’s pale coat lost in the half-light a bell tolls on the evening air at my feet a square of sea-glass thumbnail small through a glass darkly I see him move into the sea strike out and swim away first published Sweet Sorrow: Red Wolf Journal 11

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