From inside
the sky’s warm
open throat,
the leather flask
full with biting
darkness
rips
and dusk
is poured
over
the crest
of the naked
waves
as they scatter
my mind
and the horizon
in glass shards
—on the tongue.
And I reach
out and scratch
off peels of peach,
rust
& rhum.
They won’t stay,
they won’t stay
I know.
&
in the horizon
scatters
my mind
down the sky’s
warm
open throat.
_____________
Photo: Tom GRAINGER ~ https://www.instagram.com/tomgraingermarseille/