Sea of Sighs
by KB Ballentine

Mead Moon trips, spilling
the last of her honeyed light
over fields of fruiting hawthorn.
Horses feed in the gloaming,
the shortest night only days away,
snorts and nickers swelling
the wren’s lingering song.
Crackle static of heat-lightning
over waves. Relentless
against the rocks, they throb
and pulse far below,
where cliff embraces sand,
pebbles and shells tossed with the spray.
Even an acorn grips the shore,
tracing the hope of a mighty oak
before the turning of the tide.

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