CLEVEDON
On the day the first snow flake fell
along a muddied jigsaw shore
slim boats lined with black blushed tail
on smeared grit and brown labyrinth floor.
A path of tobacco crosses in oak
matted with dead feather and yellow moss,
on water were lost epiphanies float
above the slewed ringlets of frost.
Paintings held in the small palm of dead sand
oblong canvas in pristine red and navy glow,
vinegar trails in a child's frosty hand
like lines of wax embalmed in cemented snow.
The grass verge a train track rustic and twinned
a balaclava chip fryer shivers,
an empty arcade with damp neon wings,
derelict band-stand in flakes of taped leather.
A distant pier with green shining railings
like a charred black orchid cast out at sea,
a vast cloudless red sky sailing
in dark colours that hear an ocean stop to breathe.
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