Journey to the English seaside

Dream visions from the train,
three hours of anticipation
slumber in the carriage,
yet an eye opens for a signal
of a blue horizon
to draw over unsalted lands.

Hills beckon seagrass
along trails wind-curved,
my feet stir the toes
in desire of warm sand walks.

You see, comfort awaits
beyond the glass, its breath
carried from the Pacific, buffers
dunes into Sahara cousins;
footprints converge to ridges
for boats lain high upshore,
retired in distance
to African summers.

And the measure of waves
becomes impossible from this view,
except through the open vent,
where my hands feel the flow.