I was watching the hoops of harbour water pat the quayside
like the pressing of tiny palms.
And over the harbour's arc all the boats pushed to the damp
walls
like a crowd eager for one arrival.
I placed my hands in the salt-bleached baskets and their swarming cargoes of silver.
There was a woman waiting in borrowed blankets, holding out
a pack of lighters
which were all aflame like a menorah.
She led me to a square of short grass and the shadows of poplars
where I found small pieces of torn paper, finger-smudged glasses,
and the imprint on the grass where four had lain and eaten.
I found their broken crusts and laughter fallen about me like leaves.
And the square filled with a host of people like a great shoal
straining hard at the net. Then a woman appeared on a plinth like a prow.
She was reciting something that sounded like love.
And I saw the four people leave for the paths and I followed them to a low house that was lit inside like a lantern. They opened some wine there and drank it like lovers, and I stood and waited beside the gate.
Cliff Ashcroft
