Dawn not yet and the night still
lingers in the cooling air. Outside
in the square it is totally silent
but for the sound of the sea
in the trees.
slides into our room, and the muslin
hung over the windows
balloons like sails.
We lie like spoons
in a four-poster bed
that stands free on the tiled floor
in the middle of the room.
The tiles are large, the colour of gingerbread
and on every other tile a small glass
holds a tea light candle.
The whole floor glows
like a phosphorescent sea. Earlier
I made you a cup of fresh camomile tea. And now
She’s been given a handful of shells and special stones,
two pairs of socks and shoes. The children
come back with a question,
a wound, a complaint. The wind brings her
dog bark, a distant train. She’s thinking
of what to do about dinner,
of a past lover, of the sliding sky’s infinity
The sun’s light is laughter on the dancing water.
He is standing, holding
in the silent street
curled to the shape of her palm. He’s a child.
is taking care of everything.