That turn of cuff twisted a melancholy smile
clashing gray clouds with laughing light.
The pulsing sound of waves, laden with weed,
whisked past bare feet with even toes and even nails.
A mouth full of sand and fruit; rare strawberries.
And kites diving higher than they could.
And music organs, and monkey’s caps,
with monkeys in between.
And endless sails of endless dyes, sifting
silently between themselves, between the sea
and sun, and sun and sea.
Then, sudden movements empty emerald chests,
and shouts, and babies’ cries, and heat,
and flies, and sand, and mothers’ hands:
dismissed by regal whim.
Oh, emperors and poets, conquerors and kings:
come, paltry viewers, view
a blind salt-tinted prince turn
timely towards far deeper depths,
through choral bicycles and diamond tins,
past empty halls of glass
to breathe . . .
And fallen sand lies on the wooden floor
beneath an old man’s silent stare.
And cuffs, returned, fall even by dark leather feet,
with even toes and even nails.