Now we clamber over the rocks
In such great commotion
To set the gulls in motion forever.
Their droppings stain
The smooth and multi-colored stones
That wink kaleidoscopically in the sun,
And the sand pulses like a snare
On our dismounting.
The bleached armory of the sea
Lay ever-washing on the shore
In casques and blades and bulwarks.
In your hand a gray medallion crumbles
To powder
And is claimed with haste
By the wind
You can almost see it glint
Out there where
Ships uncoil their iron tails
Through the sleeping seamless sea
And toward the dusk of our lives
when our feet
Have grown a second heel
You stop, you kneel
And arrange on the pad of a finger
Ten blonde grains
Wandered from There.
You ask for a bottle
But the best I can offer, is memory
Photo by Janosch Lino on Unsplash
