I finished work and waited for her
With a cigarette, watching an African try to sell sunglasses
to sleeping Irish tourists;
The light was a million needles against my neck
And my beer damp work trousers were
patterned by pale sand blown from the beach.
She walked towards me from the shore;
Her rusty hair writhed in the sea’s laconic breeze,
And I heard blood beneath the waves, and the mountains,
Falling blue to the white waters, seemed to pant beneath
The sun’s arms,
And I felt I could fall too,
Like the sun,
Like the word,
Like the mountain’s peaks.
She paused and watched me, her arms filled with bags
From Suma, and her gaze empty
As a breath designed to hold a name.
Cap Salou cracked like crystal against the air -
I sat beneath a rustling palm
On a stone wall warm as fresh bread;
And thought I heard her laugh.
It was an ordinary day, and I don’t know why
I remember her stood beneath that sky and no other;
As though that moment could stand for all:
A heart without use, blown like the grains
Of dust and sand between us,
Her eyes hidden by distance, growing dim:
White sand, red hair, green eyes,
And laughter.
