The immensity of the camisole is unbuttoned.
The sword of the horizon was scarlet.
The air flowed, the seagulls groaned.
Into the silence of the tattered clouds.
.
A short trace of the surf is battered by the surf.
The sand swallows quickly the way.
The sea teases us harmlessly.
Trying to look into our souls.
.
The mercury is ornately refracted
In the tangle of watery lines
The sea herbs swaying in their thick masses.
Of sea-grass plants.
.
The twilight velvet of the wings
The lambs are still hastening, hastening
Tickles the nostrils with iodine dust.
And the wind whispers, hoarse.
.
The crystal is battered, the chalk of seashells.
Sharp the rug that's worn through.
The quirkiness of freckled stones.
The liquor spilled on the ground.
.
Oh, the sea, the sea's bottomless eye
The cold fishy gleam
The slothful run of the lazy woman.
Of coins to pay off the red-headed splash.