A jet-skier scuds across the bay’s blue bands

Of waveless water, busting enemy dams.

A propeller plane putters past the sun

And fires his rays at a tangled tamarisk gun. 

Sheppey grips her light grey snood of haze,

Pulls it up to hide her frightened face.

The flapping bunting tugs, avoids the advances

Of brown-glass-bottle-reflected lances.

Wooden hearts on ribbons frayed and worn,

Throw disfigured shadows down the lawn.

White, still, windless mills : Ys in the sky.

A seagull glides and shrieks. A child cries.