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A recollection of first footing


There is something about that taste
The sweet honey-drift over the waves

Salt no more is my paramour
Whose love tugs me to weakness

Thin beauty of such clear space
Draws a goggle-eyed gasp such as

Amphetamine or some such racer
Of the cold blood beating the sun

Last full moon the pull of earth
Placed a fin upon the coarse-grain sand

And mud-cool air pushed the muscle
And played breath upon each scale

Then warmth urged green wells
To melt ahead like creeping coral

Snouts raised to the bright sun
Coursed like the sting-thumbs of anemones

And salt crystallised around
Eye cells ringing with crusts

And water felt like an old lover
Dull and grey as the sea bed


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001