TODAY

: a grave sandcastle, made
from whatever comes to hand -

gaffer-tape and special stones;
contraception; voices blown
distances; accommodation;
buttons from a uniform; a damaged icon.

Then fridges whispering “best before”,
grief; daffodils; broken crates; a spar;
the cost of love.       For a flag, on top,
a tattered can or . . . anything. A lone X

always marks the end. Night's lip-licking tide
belly-sneaks across the level sand. Again.