MARBLES

14 August 2017

imperfect joy

grainy beneath
white round
and time round
battered into shards
piercing for universal reminders
all wide long
curving
moving mounts farther out still  

evening hadn’t yet approached nor had this been
a perfect day, although there was joy in it still

the woman with cigarettes and coral lips
the young man sitting by the entrance, his tousled hair
a girl with the skin, she thought, of a giraffe
none of us happy although joy to the day still

I placed my hands beneath his arms and we walked

clear translucent
warm, always brackish in these parts
and rows of grapevines heavy with fruit:
there’s no joy taking things for granted.
for a while I could find the indentation of my footsteps
then my toes started kicking up dust

startlingly beautiful, a perfect disk approaching the horizon

swimming back to a metre and a half standing
but sometimes the sea tried to bring me to my knees.
The sea can be funny that way. Thalassa, I like her.

as I was saying, some things are heartbreakingly beautiful

the night breeze arrived, it knocked the salt off my gums,
that kind of breeze.
I’ll wait as long as it takes

waiting slowly —  slowly obscured the brilliant orange
the solitary dot near the cloud-empty horizon
but wondrous our earth
apart at red green spectrum 
but luminous, and myself alight
sliding below the line of the horizon

to a sunrise

my lost love, my love 

10 August 2017

Circles

At the café they set tables on a narrow stretch
A wedge of shorn grass gradually giving way to rock, to sand, to shore
Staged by an unseen hand to entertain the wanton inclinations of fate
A tale unfolds — chance in the fading twilight

The woman approaches in silence  
In silence resting
Her cheek against the back of his neck 
Done quickly lest time run out,
Lest he say no, her arms
Encircle

It’s needless, he thinks, and after all this time too much of a liberty
He pries them apart with easy execution 
Half annoyed-half curious he stands to bow in greeting
When he spied her at that table with her chatty friends what did it matter?
The hour was late and the ache buried
Unobserved
He focused west into the riot of purple-saffron hues

You’ve grown a moustache she says
I’m thinking of shaving it off he replies
Her lips are mellowed by resin-wine
By the taste 
Of salty mist glistening his skin  

They stroll at the edge crunching seashells 
And broken waves drift ashore 
Let’s climb there she decides
Where will it take us that path?

Below, the deep is wine-dark tonight
They’ve learned its belly resembles the wine-dark within us all
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
Choppy water travelling in circles