After the beached whale
we missed the boat home
found ourselves lost
at sea.
We drank to cover the silences
ears to shells
imagining whispers.
After the whale,
we discovered some worn magic
in washed-up things
lonely bottles
solitary shoes
each other.
Closeness
was equal to distance, more or less
and we drifted together
drawn by soundless tides.
After the whale
we wandered through
a forgotten holiday resort
my bare feet
crab-stepping the broken glass
collecting fragments –
a swimming pool, empty
a mango tree,
full of bats.
After the whale,
the day filled with darkness
and windows became eyes,
we felt
watched by ghosts.
We asked questions of the sky –
but the stars said nothing
as always.
And the moon cast nets of light
through the palms and
across the dunes to where
the whale bled out
just another body
in the shallows of the night.