Tree covered hilltops looming, angry with fog,
Are soothed by the blossoming sunset -
Dusty pink clouds gently kissing them goodnight.
The rocks below, alight with lichen, warm them carefully.
The ocean in the light had glowed turquoise,
Like sea-soothed glass to be touched and gathered and stroked,
To be tucked in purses and slipped into pockets.
At night, its true colours are clear:
Bitter green and furious grey,
Frosted with vengeful white -
Sharp like Antarctica.
Unforgiving like those broken bottles which tug and tear at flesh.