To hear the sea remembered

Running rest-day ...

... and here's another poem from Don Paterson's 1993 debut collection (as pictured):


Shhh

Then, it was natural
to hear the sea remembered
in those stony airlocks and chambers
though I soon knew it might as well
be anything - forest fires, landslides, hurricanes
falsified by distance
or amplification; the white noise
of the wilder elements

or the mild chaos
as she puts her lips to your ear
and you cock your brain to catch
her general drift - the blandishments,
the breath drawn at your touch:
I no longer believe what I hear.