Watching the waves
pulled by the moon
swallowing a cacaphony of shells 
the remnants  of Crustaceans
a man - a future suicide -
with his jeans rolled up
throws a stick 
- for the black & white collie -
who, herself, will soon be
euthanised.

This is not a translation
of what my eyes have seen
into words
rather, it is my surmise
of the movements,
on a sunny day,
of one man & his dog
near the edge of the sea.

This leaves me
no wiser than before
as one door closes
the poet must make
poetry from the time that's left,
wrap time around with rhyme,
gather the meagre words,
like shells on a beach,
words and whispers
culled from one long-lost sunny day
on Sunny Beach on the isle of Ynys Môn.