Sandymount

The waves lap like joyous pride,
And all the different skaters and pram-pushers,
Whisper messages across sea-spitting time.

Two salty memories of the stop of Joyce.

I wish I was on the miles,
And miles,
And miles of shore.

Towards black ship horizon testimonies,
The tide comes and in its ineluctable way,
Shifts,
Shifts,
And shifts.

Two lips of waves kiss me.

And oh,
The day of kisses is living.

Threads of sand-lines,
Two wormy-wrigglers,
A toe-mail brush of love.