Norfolk Sands
The sea is drawn back like a blind
from a window. The sands near Wells
are amber and open – half a mile
or more to the water’s edge.
We walk away from ourselves
over sand that feels like new snow,
or corrugated iron, over brittle shells
snapping painfully beneath bare feet.
This will be land for just a little longer.
We stop, tune in
to the silence.
Not even gulls come here
where there is nothing
but frequencies of light.
Now the world exists
on the principle
of the horizontal:
a strip of saffron, of periwinkle,
of ultramarine.
We have stepped through the frame of a Rothko.
James R Kilner worked as a journalist in the newspaper industry in Yorkshire for a number of years, before embarking on full-time PhD research. His publication credits – forthcoming and previous – include Other Poetry, The New Writer and Aesthetica.