GREEN WEED


Meadows between tides,

Covering driftwood and pylons.

Riding on limpets and periwinkles.


Barren rocks two months ago,

Water too warm for weed.


Now the gentle cold days;

Of ankles splashed,

Of feet on green.


A handful dripping with shimmering lice

A pungent scent.


Plaited strands about a hook,

A barbed tip for blackfish.

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