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Seascape with Figures

Pete Faulkner

Collapsed tents of net

stretch past the sunken tiny-windowed cottages

empty now.

Abandoned fishingboats drown in sand.   He


walks the sunset.   She

flaps like a mad bird

in his dressing-gown   and throws it off.


Sea retreats

over rocks moulded into Daliesque whorls

by millenia of waves.


She rolls on the stillwarm beach

then gets up


a risen mermaid

her bodystocking warm crystal sand.


They walk home

past the square whitewashed house

where the quiet lady artist

used to live.


From Painted, Spoken No 8 (2005)