Mercado


Fresh from the sea

Sticky with salt

Through the weave

Of a towel

The white light splits

Into a thousand moons

Which breathe

In and out

With my pupils’ pulse


It is 4 minutes before you wake

Short minutes when

Without your screams of glee

It is like before:

I breathe next to you father

And the fantasy,

The hope of you,

Lives only in

The space between our breaths


Part of the chorus

Like bees sleepily

Drunk on nectar

Bumbling in lavender

Bums bleached

As if forgotten

In a summer shop window


The chink of glasses

The clatter of plates

Shrieks of delight

Softened like sea-glass

Overboard, lost

At sea, at sea, at sea


It is easy to love you