in that place

There is only a flat barren stretch of beach,
The sand is fine and grey, damp and flat,
It spreads vastly in a featureless plain.
There are no smooth pebbles, jellyfish remains,
Mermaid's purses and tiny crabs,
No washed up treasures.
Not even the cry of a seagull,
The hooting of a seal.

Just all that lonely, unmarked blankness
Beneath a colourless sky, devoid of clouds or birds.

And the sea, of course,
A slate-grey placid lapping of cold water,
Beating quietly and ceaselessly against the shore.

There is no wind,
No spray of salt-shot foam.

Just the waves constantly breaking,
Breaking...
Breaking me into little pieces.

Wearing at me indefatiguably,
The mute bubbles swelling around my ankles
And toppling me,
To lie face down in watery sand,
Fragmented,
As the sea smoothes over the small bits of me,
Slowly transforming me into just more
Flat, grey, unremarkable sand.