Echoes of an Atlantic storm
      gentled by the distance travelled
          mingling with the echoes
Re-echoing off the dark cliffs:
      they break in the longsand
           like the day's sleepiness;
Somebody is dreaming this beach
      with the vibrant 'tubes' rolled in
           in their musical order,
The invisible wings of this dreamer
      wafting sleep-breeze
           that slides over the sandhills
Where a ruined oratory hides
      whose stones wear away
           into sleepy sand
Full of balsam; now the stout
      and lively rain
            conjures over the dry sand
Immense water-shadings which
     project a chill; the already
           glass-wet beach stretches away
To the headland we call
      Skull Island and the clouds
           are white supersurf above
Excelling the surfer's surf,
      who wear in the white water
           dark sea-tadpole-suits,
And the red flag goes up
      to mark the perilous abysses
           that seek to come ashore.

· From From the Virgil Caverns by Peter Redgrove. Published by Cape Poetry, price £8.