Angel On Gower
Sometimes I sit with sheep in the fields,
sometimes I swim a cove with the seals,
sometimes I sleep on soft broad sands;
today, I am settled with scones and jam,
invisible in the crammed Surfside Café,
sending my blessings to one on the deep,
astride a board, watching for waves,
applying his arms to an even beat,
(swell gets closer), paddling harder,
lifting his torso, eager to leap
up: the wave carries him, swifter, bolder;
I saw him fall when fear of failure
kept him looking over his shoulder,
now he’s wiser. Wave curls smaller,
he flops his limbs back into the water,
an indentation in time,
a moment in the space of an ocean.
It’s not a journey, there’s no destination –
so he grabs the board, splashes again,
up through the florid, flailing foam.
When he’s exhausted, sitting in ripples,
watching others, a little envious,
knowing the time to join me has come,
we’ll meet on dark rocks, beneath a late sun
and watch his footprints fade in the sand.
Then I’ll show him the sheep in the fields,
we’ll swim in a hidden cove with seals,
sleep under stars on soft broad sands,
then breakfast together on toast and jam,
invisible in the crammed Surfside café.
2025