You lie there unmoving
unreading, the dark of the shadow
squat indigo shadow
compressed by the weight of the
unbreathable air
you panting; oppressed and unhappy
pinned
by the unwinking, unmoving, inimical sun.
The dead air on the foreshore
dancing in fever (sick headache to look at)
destroying the bay.
and the waves curl slow
they sigh
and die
sigh on the shingle
withdrawing: a sigh and a pause so long
you think that the sea has tired
retired and died
pond
an ocean no more.