113/ I’m looking for her

I knocked on her door,
saw her through the window,
she rents the lower flat.
The sea flows out, travels back;
you taste the salt.
It’s a cloudless day, the sea is up.
She lies along the breakwater,
with her bottle of suntan oil.
Everything transmits and absorbs
the world around it.
Beyond the beach shop
selling teas in white cups,
the trees sway.

I was naked under a car,
it’s one in the morning, outside a bar.
I was the rebel, unpredictable;
it takes a life-time for someone to know you.
And when she lifts her hand she wears a ring.
I reckon she takes it off in the evening.
I’m looking for her,
in and out of cafés,
in and out of parties.