The wind follows my eyes
and glides over waves upturned
vie for a view of the sunburnt sand
and plates of olives
seasoned by the salt they have sprung
Words rest on the rims
of thin glasses
Some gone by gales,
others tinted red
as the beach bends and the sea stretches
Expressions speak softly,
slowly slicing through hot air
Light like a professors voice,
understood as the child understands
the cat showing its belly to the sun
Hands move idly
Peeling peaches, playing parts
tapping tunes, swirling stems
They lie on lace and linen,
late for their afternoon nap
Voices hush,
watch the water
White pearls linger on each break
Lead us to the horizon, the setting sun
still high above our heads.
