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The breeze on a deserted seafront promenade

The sea,
its expanses,
the sea
and its shores.
The sea
softly hissing
amid sails,
amid boats.
Endless
blue horizon:
you can swim
to the sky
where, among constellations,
the eternal is nigh.
The sea
softly singing
with the music
of spheres;
the sea
with its swinging
while we sink,
while we die.
The sea
and its promise;
the sea
and its howl
of cruel time 
slowly cradled
and asleep 
on a towel.

The sea
with its algae,
with its salt and its sand,
the smell
of its lotions
and the sunburn and tan.
The sea
and its furnace
of lapis lazuli,
the sea
and its cool coves,
the sea,
you, and me.
The sea,
calm and patient;
the sea
full of wrath.
The sea
almost sentient,
the sea
wipes our path.
Brimming
with our debris,
the sea 
drowns itself
in its crimson sunsets;
the sea’ll
wake again.

The sea
and its warships,
the sea
and its shells.
The sea
eats up sailors
that will never return,
strong men going under
empty netfuls,
no urn.
The sea
and its whaling,
its fish and its catch,
the sea
and its promise.
To its might
we're no match.
The sea
lures the lovers
on its beaches at dusk.
White shirts
flap on broad chests
with the odor of musk.
The squall
has died down now;
the sea and its hull
will once again stir us,
irresistible lull.


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