Repetition - Edit

This where I begin
 Our garden is overflowing
 But on the road there is no sign of life
 All sprayed relentless away, grey black dust soot
 But no mind as within a minute
 Our four feet are upon the moss of the curved basin rocks
 And there is too much life to take in here
 We climb past the petrified tree, sat like a giant's badly thrown pot
 Discarded but hanging on, lopsided.
 Climbed upon by generations and generations
 And hardly an obstacle for you at all, now.
 We creep down the slide of the ashen grey glass; careful, careful
 As the water rushes to meet our further neighbours
 The secret beach is exposed
 And this is where we shall go, twice a day
 Passing the igneous and the sandstone
 The rock pools and the idiot yellow forests
 Slowly drying in the sun but sleekit still
 You can hold my hand yet you run off to the heights
 I call out warnings
 Terrified of the ending of my world in a few moments time
 Should you slip
 Or focus on a maroon red shell-less snail just a little too closely
 And here the sand is a renewed virgin
 Here my feet slowly sink
 The water creeping to my toes reminding me of my own childhood
 The grit under the nail, a blink and I am there
 Charcoal in my hand, decorating the rocks with evil lunged faces
 The skull and the cross bone
 And then a yelp, and I'm back to you and your calls for attention
 I watch the waves the gulls, the guillemots and you, I watch you
 I breathe the air and I momentarily confuse
 A trickle of water with a fat broken heel
 I lift and I pop seaweed
 For a scent achievable nowhere else but my memory
 And soon my son you will be me, and I will be gone
 And when I die, lay my body down, far far along this furthest strand
 We cannot control the longlines
 At best I can skim a stone seventeen steps, with luck
 But after that, I have no control of the trajectory
 The weight, the ripple of the water
 So it is important we throw with grace and precision
 The collapse of the flight, the illusion
 And I teach the curl
 Explain my understanding of the cup of the base of the stone
 A traditional black weight slate coin
 Perhaps not the best, for me
 And every few moments, we will hurl a brick and laugh
 For it always works to hurl a brick, for us
 I tire, you skip, I nudge a discarded crab
 And with a shard I remember a friend
 Battered by life's slow easy tide
 And his own life changing harbour wave
 His own tiny tsunami
 Three nine three nine
 What a life to live, for that fellow
 What a time to realise that this surge will be the last
 That he cannot survive this swell
 A crash and a panic and a struggle to breathe, perhaps?
 He did not find his nook in which to shelter
 Now, just give me a minute
 Like warmth you return, holding a soap shaped stone
 Curved and perfect and "Look, I can use it to draw with"
 And you carve swift shark marks; one two three
 And will it be here tomorrow?
 We shall see