Monsoon. Damp crisps, beer
the smell of undried clothes
the room smudged by
an overcast sky

The floating sea breeze, how
it reached us moistly
and silenced us
while the town yawned bit by bit.
The slanting roofs, fishnets
empty and old, the priest’s slippers, dried over the noon
in the street near the beach
where every window opens to
the setting sun
which sinks

tide by tide
sparkling the waters
as it watches us sit still
letting it go
into our diaries



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