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Now our
eustachian tubes
are filled
with brine
barefoot on
this crunchy beach
sound still seeps up
through bone
& stringless gulls
wheel tight
above my
silent skull
white drones groove
vectorial blue
scud beyond
teased scuffs of
undone cloud
& hone
melodian lulls
mindfully
broken waves
folds in air
release a soothing
muffled din
called light
I know we have
been warned
against this
loitering
in the bower
yet staring
at the sea's
vast crystal whisper
does feel
strangely flanged
you played me
des ronds dans l'eau
to the rattling of clams
soused senseless in
my favourite
pan
Bordighera/Varzi, late July–early August 2019