Tectonic Plates (Inspired by a trip to Black Rock, Brighton beach, 23rd February 2019)

One summers' day

in February 

blinking in the too-hot 

glare, you pointed

at a seam of pebbles

high up the cliff.

That used to be a beach,

you said. In the Ice Age.

(Neither of us added,

"and our now-beach

soon won't be"

because no-one wants 

to spoil a sunny day 

with doom-things.)

Instead I took your hand

while beneath us tectonic plates

shifted on molten rock

I held your hand

while stars blackened and the ice-shelf creaked

Despite and because of The End

I held your hand.

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