and wonder how its creases, once familiar, now fold
into your open face. An ocean waits on all we almost said.
Comms by postcard, or phone box. Always late. Toothbrush, pencil
and notebook to collect. Remember not to bring ID.
Barbed wire rides a long, high fence. Inside we know the silos
hide – concrete, guarded. Uniforms ranked ready at the gate
with heavy boots and blue instruction. Nothing they can do
until we move: power hangs like a wind chime in stillness.
Bound by preparation we think ourselves unshakable. Yet
for missiles flying over, this land is no more than a map.
On some beach, uncharted, there’s a bonfire of resistance.
We unload pebbles from our pockets, float free. Tide-minded
never swallow fallout. But rinse our mouths with brine, spit out
those dreams – so rich, so wild, so fast – we cannot taste again.
