Saul Hughes


We turned abruptly and it was there,
Stretched between outcrops of pinkish rock:
The sea, tautening brine-primed biceps,
Rippling its baby-oiled muscle structure.
We’d brought that babble of beach bric-a-brac:
Armbands, ice-box, oversized umbrella,
Endless toys, and self-concious sunglasses.
I traipsed my signature across the sand,
The grains so hot the soles of my feet stung.
And I weighed up the expressionless sky:
Such perfection prefigures the vacuum,
Which erases all and before us looms.

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