The Limitless Sea

On this snip of beach between two jetties,
tired stone on one side, crumbling concrete on the other,
small waves flop onto the sand, swirl round three boulders, trip over themselves
to return to the sea. The old wall looms weary over dancing foam,
the heartless splash that’s slowly worn it down.

Higher on the beach a dozen of young folk gathers,
men and women in bright clothes. They form a circle,
faces towards each other, backs to the world,
and sing their made-up lyrics to well-known songs.

The sky above them holds a relentless blue,
the inland cliffs release a shading of new green,
imperceptibly becoming spring. The sea
with its modest splash and hiss conceals their songs
inside its all-embracing snicker. Continuity.

Don’t try to name the feeling, no word can hold it,
it is as limitless as the sea…the sea that moves
so freely round the captive and dissolving land.
There’s no word big enough to hold it in a name.
The only limitless word is no word at all.