West Pier, Brighton

Along the beach
to Kemptown,
the long way back,
beyond the curdle
of murmerations,
that over-shoulder
look to the sunset,
at the skinned bulk
of rotten dark piers,
with a low tide touch
to creme caramel sky;
bursting in and out,
the flexed shadow,
and translucency,
of clouded starlings;
their murmerings,
such sung things,
followed me home.

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