Poet, Philip Radmall
A harbinger, we called it, the final line in the slow, withdrawing
slide of wave breaks furthering out across the sand flats before
the tide turned in. We watched for it, way out from the beach,
looked hard down at each last mark of foam and salt for the great
telling of one thing come to an end that another in turn begin;
drawn to it, yet almost hoping it would never be. Lone outcasts,
we stalked the edge of the shallows that str...