The Sands of Faro Beach
White sands withered down from bones
Fins and bones that were and now are gone
Ripples of a human tide forever on the move
They came and went without a knowing why...
And now....they have become white grains upon the gritty beach.
Out there upon the moist lagoon....
the cockle pickers bend ...Millet’s Gleaners come to mind. ..
They’re plucking from the slimy mud small mollusks of life ...
The watery flats become a mirror to the sky.
Sand Pipers strut
Their stark dark eager eyes look for the smallest twitch below their feet....
All is still and ancient..but the calm setting full of silent work
Is shattered when a plane takes off nearby
Roars up in hideous mighty roar
Till it becomes a dot and is no longer seen.
And tranquil peace descends below again.
... the stalking birds
... the Cockle Pickers
The beauty shimmering of the lagoon...
Is never seen or felt by flying men.
Out there upon the moist lagoon the cockle pickers bend...
It never ends...
The ripple of the tide ...forever on the move...
Forever on the cockle beds.
Kristine Byrne 15 jan 2012.