Moon Rising over Start Bay, 3rd March, 5,38pm

The evening yawns, stretching out cloudy
arms on the tired horizon. The fluffy ends
drip the last drops of the day onto the sea
as the sun sinks, leaving a sense of settling.
Seventeen minutes later the full Moon

appears above the clouds, rising slowly,
a pale orange drunk recovering from last
morning’s fall. The surface of the sea is now
metallic blue-grey, a wide mirror to reflect
the pitted make of the moon as she rises up

into a sky. From the window of the Seaview
Bed and Break I watch that oddly large face
opening, that vulnerable goddess gaining
confidence, becoming brighter as the sky
darkens. The time tips over 6pm and the sea

is now entirely grey, a silken bedsheet for
the Moon to lay down her trembling reflection
an orange torchlight made watery by the waves.
She winks at me. I consider drowning in her.
Now it is 6.25pm and the sky is drenched

in the dark blue of night, the sea’s silk
turning to heavy wool. The Moon is bright
and her image shimmers on the thick water.
I walk along Torcross beach, crunching
the pebbles in the panting silence, admiring

her full, round beauty; I have never known 
such beauty before in my hi-fi, high-street,
high-maintenance life. I have never heard
what the sighing waves say to me now:
Do not forget her. Look for her again.