Haad Yao
by David Adès


There is no one on the beach at 10.30 pm.
The full moon passed this way nights ago
on its way to the other side of the world.

There is just the light splish splish lullaby
of waves, clouds manifesting degrees
of darkness, scudding dark undersides.

In the black distance, the pinprick lights
of a few trawlers gather solitude.
Sheet lightning: a brilliant punctuation.

Drops patter the sand light as sand crabs.
Behind the beach the wind is a warm
susurration through trees.

Nothing waits for me beyond this moment.






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