eldest daughter looks out to sea

i could fix

carefully curate the shoreline
on the beach of morecambe bay
sow each grain of sand
with hopeful and precise positioning

i could run circles around grass dunes
etch every shape so they fit
a whole family of sea creatures

i could be kind -

unassuming,
shrink softly like sand,
fill myself in the gaps of cockles
buried beneath

but no vessel could i fit
the rage in which i sit
no ocean could i shape - bend - or fix

without the safety to be held
just once
by the arms of predictable tides

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