Robert Wyatt - The Sight of the Wind

We could hear it
before the shutters were open,
the wind on the beach.

Then we found
miniature sand dunes
on the concrete of the balcony
and a dead leaf
zig zagging,
scratching an urgent message
in s anskrit
before hitching a ride
on a frisky gust,
a plastic bag
caught by a rail
rearing to go,
in such a flap
we set it free
to join a page of last week's news
racing high
above the undulating beach,
and the invisible flying sand
casting a fast moving shadow
stroking the beach clean.
Yesterday's footprints vanished,
replaced by smooth rippling
wave formations,
a copy of the sea.
No one walking
not even the dogs.

A day
for the rubbish to dance.