Clouds like black marshmallows swam above the sea
(God’s a confectioner, always jam tomorrow.)
We searched the shore for sweetness
and set our nets to nab the scuttling crabs.
We left no stone unturned.
“God’s not sweet, there is no jam” I said
“A sair fecht” was your reply.
On the wind a scent of open wounds
the sea bloomed with violets and verdigis
and in the porcelain of shallow caves
waves sang sad arias.
We tasted iodine and sea-pinks.
Come back my childhood, come back my first love.
Remind me how I tasted sweetness
when we wandered that northern shore
and talked of God and jam tomorrow.
Here is a poem that's developed into a memory of Lossiemouth, where I lived as a young teenager.