hinge of laughter.

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some memory of blue clay,

of buttered gorse, jutting bayonet

of flint, half-hidden,

always just an inch away,

 

this very, very evening, returned

again, beleaguered, beached and batchelor:

palm of secret, saddened gems.

 

the following adornments remain

abandoned on the tidal floor

waiting for me to discover them –

 

a glass of sand,

a special pebble,

a mirrored comb of oranged metal,

some catgut, coiled, caught around

a tiny flounder’s jaw, ajar and

aching: hinge of laughter.

 

 

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