So far away
A minute stick of a figure
At the water’s edge
In his own world
Yet now, also
In my world
Trouble, as they say, sets out
At the double
To disturb his peace
More-so, the cloud cover
Has changed the waters colours
Caught the shadows on the hop
The white windmills
For now they are all white
Their greys having been despatched
By the twirling blades
He doesn’t move at the double
Troubles himself instead, to focus
On that extremely fine line
Where land meets sea
Where new light travels
Along the East Coast continuum
From the Wash to the Humber
From the gifts of the gifted, to those as given
