in the wet sand caught on your arm  
someone drew a sea horse
yesterday sea spies were selling
silky shell meat
for peanuts
on empty markets

in the atriums of shells
in glassy voices of babies and mother-of-pearls
we listened to the saga about the calm sea
when the sea is like a looking-glass
when you look at your face
for another thousand years

that’s the story
of those meticulously rendered null and void
those September’s blue envelopes
in the discotheques on the outskirts of town
where your panties get lost in the pneumatic
blows of the drum hammers
while the chandeliers are spewing out
first evening sweat

when the open roadside gardens
release the red-hot asphalt
from the Styrofoam sheets
the entire sunrise
dreams of the soft debauchery
of your feet