Along the beach that winds
around the misty bay,
where the sea curves
just a little to fall off the edge
of the world,
there lives a secret work
of artist unknown,
that sits undisturbed
in the weeded sand.
It is made of the gothic still trees
that once lived in tall report
and looked out to the bay
but now lie deathly in
the cradling sand,
bleached and stark,
and twisted all in
charcoal relief,
and manufactured in 3D.
Their roots that once sucked
nurture from the sandy washed soil
lie naked and exposed for
us to look at and wonder why
they have fallen to their artistic death
along this lonely deserted
stretch of galleried beach.
And the banks from whence
they came and where they grew from seed
are now eroded and fallen in a heap,
and washed by the insistence of the tide
that flows and does its job
in keeping the gallery clean.
The trees lie sold to death and preserved
in the salt that is given by the sculpture’s hand
who jealously guards this precious work
and leaves it waiting for
all generations who wish to make
the walk and come and see
nature’s art upon the
tiny specks of sand.
8/4/2017