an open field

family dinner as night falls we rattle a few skeletons

the first ice-cream, because he's a guest, the 4-year-old tells me

remembering who we are as the sun goes down we swap stories around the table

unexpected gifts the paddling pool deeper after the storm

all day rain the edges of the playing cards start to curl

evening swim the sea saltier in the losing light

a moment alone I read my book in the paddling pool

Sunday morning: a queue at the bakery then sandcastles and tiny silver fish darting in the shallows. Some days open to us effortlessly.

the distance between us I watch my step-daughter's plane start to descend

rotisserie chicken I walk back towards the scent

beach beggar her little girl trickles sand between her fingers

the tiny waists of girls in bikinis the boys dive into the waves

thunder clap I think about the promises he won't keep

time to go home a little boy fills up his Crocs with sand

the wind picks up beneath dark clouds the sea takes on the colour of petrol and now the rain each day this week summer has turned against itself, as if it has forgotten its own name

the sea as clear as light this morning a little girl stands under the beach shower and opens her mouth a rose tattoo above a woman's right buttock I step around the pebbles on the sea-bed

the sound of children playing in the garden and the house sings

Bastille Day a boy on the beach tramples his sandcastle

a young girl turns cartwheels in the shallows the waves break short like a splash of applause

sunset the fisherman's silhouette edged with light