Three walked barefoot into the sea,
mother, father and only child
with trousers rolled above the knee.
A stretch of water - half a mile;
granite loaves made a cobbled road
when the tide was low. Tide was high.
Bread vans idled on either shore.
In lifeboat sheds along the coast
cradled boats were dead to the world -
the bones of re-assembled whales.
A mothballed helicopter dozed.
But three unshod went wading on,
father, mother and little one,
up to their hips in brine and krill,
the Gulf Stream nudging at their heels.
Husband, wife and three-year-old,
out of their depth and further still,
...