Time takes too much time! you sang as we took
to the wind, pulling our hair from our mouths

and breathing out air still spindrift.
In the two remaining greys of last light

the storm came in on the king tide’s back;
by morning the jetty would be broken to bits.

That night we stood at the jetty’s clinging root-end
and ran. The waves broke over both sides

to make us an arbour of threat and glisten;
we jumped the loosed planks that clacked

in retarded joy sea! sea! as we reached the sprig-end.
You clutched your crotch in happy fear

and lost your hat. The railings were all gone:
we were standing on a platter, offered up.