Now we clamber over the rocksIn such great commotionTo set the gulls in motion forever.Their droppings stainThe smooth and multi-colored stonesThat wink kaleidoscopically in the sun,And the sand pulses like a snareOn our dismounting.
The bleached armory of the seaLay ever-washing on the shoreIn casques and blades and bulwarks.In your hand a gray medallion crumblesTo powderAnd is claimed with hasteBy the windYou can almost see it glintOut there whereShips uncoil their iron tailsThrough the sleeping seamless sea
And toward the dusk of our liveswhen our feetHave grown a second heelYou stop, you kneelAnd arrange on the pad of a fingerTen blonde grainsWandered from There.You ask for a bottleBut the best I can offer, is memory
Photo by Janosch Lino on Unsplash