10 August 2017


At the cafĂ© they set tables on a narrow stretch
A wedge of shorn grass 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

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
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