11.02.23, Sassoon Docks

even in the numbing echoes of silence,
I strut past the fishnets intently.
a dog panting in the sun, wagging its tongue
dripping o’er the ice-blocks by the sea,
the bottom beckons me to come
into the head of an anglerfish, swirling
like an attaché in the deep.
I knock on no one’s doors, I dust bicycles,
and glint like fishtails coin-flat in the street.
I find myself in conversation with the waves;
the water returns as shimmering pearls,
I laugh. I refuse to be touched.
my fingers sharp like a hook in the mouth
of a bounding sailfish
swooping like a chandelier in the mist
some days I seek to touch my extremities
and still feel like standing.