after Alfred Wallis

In the seaside of a white room with good, large windows

we talked about that light,

and all the angles we like and dislike.

We were a pretty crude picture of happiness—

as simple as a shell, as a harbour

with houses in green and pink,

with a whole economy based on fish.

Green and pink and silver fish. Heaps of them.

I have a whole fleet of thoughts about this but

Look at the houses! Look at the ship!

Not at all the right way up…

And we are not so near the sea

though the light makes us think otherwise.

There's nothing between here and the Urals,

nothing but the large, flat sea—oh and heaps of fish of course.