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that summer

there is a place
high in the dunes
where the sky
is
everywhere
unbounded
but
by
Earth
itself
and seaward
curving 'way
to broad
Atlantic roar
upon those dunes
we dipped
and rolled
with feet made light
by summer heat
and chased
and played
as swallows
and
as I sit now
a dismal 'lone
I can hear
the crashing foam
and feel
the spikes
upon my feet
of marram
tangled thistle
I can
feel
the wind whipped sand
and in mine
twisted
calloused
hands
I feel
your gentle breasts
when we made love
the first time
beneath
the skylark's
mocking gaze
and above
the curlews cry
my spark
may not
yet be
entirely spent
but
I will
always
touch
and feel
and
smell
the scent
of fires
we made
that
summer

Poetry by Peter Humphreys