Although stone nudes are everywhere—some crammed
two to a column, supple caryatids,
and others mooning in the Tuileries—

I walk along the shore.
Wind’s salt tongue licks my face.
And see—beyond the swells

Above: sun on the mountain
Below: mist on the water
The wise one waits

At first, he wondered why he should be spared;
Observed, of all the windows, none was barred,
And every door swung open at a word.

Pool at the Antzo-mendi
The Antzo-mendi bar was where
we went when we were male adolescents.
The place was big
and had a pool table in the middle.
Wooden floors.
You heard Velvet Underground there,
Ziggy Stardust.

Trotsky for me was riding
high up on the back of the tractor.

Trotsky for me was taking a bath naked
with my little friend in the bathtub.

here it’s different he might slip or trip
or he’d slept badly or his wife just died
or he won the lottery or he was in love

listen to the sea in the pebbles on the shore
listen to them
the drowned