After loving
the sound of the sea
came in at the window.
A mile away
beyond the reach of our feeble light
just reflected on the deserted promenade
quiet waves broke at midnight
and the slow rhythm of renewed talk
travelled in long lines across our minds.
Remembering those quiet moments
after drums
I think of spring flowers opening to the sun
or winter frost feeding the roots
of young vines.
To MP.