Two gulls paddle, fishing in the southern end
of Perconger. The water is deep mauve, with sharp whiteness
on the low waves’ edges on which these birds
go unperturbedly.
A half-circle
of brown stones, flecked with smaller orange stones
and ginger ones, overlays the centre of
the northern side of the short tombolo,
the middle height sandy; west, green thick weed
partially overlying itself. And west,
further, a wedge of grey stones, a damp course
of green weed, and, below, a thick stratum
of grey stones. The rest, sand. Nothing beside
remains! and tomorrow it will be different.
West by North of the brown, that brown is cut
into darker and deeper weed, a marsh
made treacherous by submerged stone in heaps.
Two divers splash together in the north
of The Cove, a sexual couple, bonding
by play.
Boats, with sails furled.
Empty sea,
perhaps all the way to Iberia.
The Bar’s Cove shore, south, is grey, right along,
hard grey crowds in curves like drapes.
Piled stones.
Pointless towers
patterning sane disorder.
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