Morning Walks On The Beach Poem by Mark Heathcote

Every morning on the beach
there was that chevron pattern
and a lone morbid gull screech.
gingerly we'd walk and churn-

Heels down deep into the soup
and blend seawater with the sand.
knock heels together and stoop,
watch it sink back like quicksand.

Look detached like a kestrel
about to fly on a whim,
cautiously take a nominal-
leap forwards, as if to swim.

Otherwise, parallel stride—
fearfully trek side by side.
faithful envious now edified.
by His goodness stupefied.