By DS Maolalai
like waking up to light
on the inside of a ping-pong ball;
clouds have settled gently
and spread through dublin
streets. I open out
our double doors
and look down
on the river, stretching,
drinking heat up
from my coffee.
it's early – 8 on Saturday
and mine the only
occupied balcony.
around, the sky scatters salt
and a fresh pepper of seabirds.
the dock gates
open; high tide turns.
we're on a swelling
estuary. the scum
is up against
the quays.
I am a seabird
perched on the lee
of a cliffside.
I drink my coffee, hear you
behind me breaking
eggs.
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