This poem is taken from PN Review 138, Volume 27 Number 4, March - April 2001.
The Porthcawl Preludes
Salt
Pray to the inexhaustible.
Sip the venomous vintages.
The first
and true
Religion of this world
Is thirst.
The Drowning Man
Over my head
The grey pages
Float down from the photocopier.
How could I ever have doubted
The sea's apocrypha?
Neap
Surfer, cursing the calm,
Oystercatcher beeping like a smoke-alarm,
Anglers weighting their lines:
Now and forever the sea's concubines.
Oyster
Tonight there's no mistake:
...
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