Rush of the waves in your ear you wake, begin each day. Beach stones shuffle and fall, shift to accommodate your tread, shuffle again. No trace of you left. Wind-pawed you stand at the edge, salt crystals fizzing round your toes, skin pinking as the North Sea slaps then smothers you, taking as it finds. Swimmer, when you breathe again there’s no such thing as cold, only the water’s grip anchoring, slipping as you kick against it.