#4

by Christopher Raley

 

In the evening the waves had shrunk down

and, like a dog’s tongue, lapped in troubled sleep.

The wind died cold leaving fingers of sand

tracing the pavement to where it had blown.

 

A car left the pub and followed the road

up and over the knuckle of the cape.

It was quiet again between absorbing deep

and hotel balcony as sound stage.

 

I listened for the car but the forest

had taken it.  I listened both empty

and receiving.  A woman’s voice clipped short,

fragment chord from the bar, these are what I heard

 

and memory of soft movement behind,

straightening of cloth, final click of strap.

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