Whitby, July 2019
Up cobbled streets I do not know
I wade through my anonymity,
brushing over me like voile or muslin,
teased by sea breezes.
All round the town and down
to the beach, I relish the fish-slip
of myself, breaching the scene
like a whale fin, glossy and rare
as a tailed star.
Here I am a stranger to everything;
they’ll never be sure they really saw.