that silver morning at Shi Shi,
the chill we rose to a mere shade
of the deeper cold to come
we’d had visitors in the night,
our tents encircled by prints –
two sets surveying our strangeness
then breaking away to wander
to the edge of the sea,
twining in close loops together
we followed with our coffee
trailing steam from our mugs –
careful not to efface the evidence
© Sarah Whiteley
ebbtide 