where the wind blows

Barrelling up under a pier around the creaking iron legs, through the gobs and spits of foam, the shrieks of gulls, the wild and ratted ropes, the snagged bags and the momentarily peaked blue corner of a hood on a body rolling in the swell;

Through a shattered kitchen door and a scattering of glass shards, across the rooted feet of two young girls to the legs of a boy who lies shivering on the floor in front of them, a bloodied towel crammed beneath his arm;

Around a police car, up the concrete steps, past the splintered lock of a door, along the hallway to the crossed legs of a naked man, the filthy blanket on his shoulders and then round to the policeman standing behind him, flowing up his neatly zipped jacket to the small black camera on the side of his hat;

Through a fretted iron gate, whipping through stands of rhododendron, viburnum, hydrangea and jasmine to the tufts of fake white rabbit fur on the shucked slippers of an elderly woman lying on her back amongst the recycling bins;

Pouring down a steep metalled driveway to the old man emerging from the house in a carry chair, up his blanketed legs, over the shaving bag of medication he clutches in his lap to the lustrous white shine on the bones of his cheek;

Along past fences frantically pulling at their posts, over the milk bottles, the dried up tins of paint, the clattering litter tray and the gently turning wheels of a discarded bike, on up the toyed stairs to the bathroom on the landing, the heaps of bloodied towels and flannels, the red fingerprints on the white plastic envelope of maternity notes, up against the speckled white legs of the woman on all fours, and the scrunched-up face of the baby as it emerges, as it begins to turn slowly to the side now, blindly, irresistibly, orientating itself to the air.