(
After Playing with Waves by Hilary Soper, oil on canvas. )
And you rush in like a fool from a song,
smiling, soles lifted to slap down on sea
sooner than wade through it, until sea smiles
back. It ‘s tricked you far enough to have you
struggle, then paddle with your arms.
A moment on and it lets you know
how vulnerable you are, not just
for the weight of one wave (whipped and creamed),
that tastes of sweet mustard, that reaches, laughs
out loud before it spins you back to where
you belong, but because the sand it’ll lay you in,
will lay in you, red devils
that scour, rough you up – that later
you’ll want to wash from your hair.
Graham did this!
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