She comes each morning
with the sea on her head.
Fresh oysters for sale, fresh oysters!
She cries like the sunlight,
wrinkles rippling,
though there isn’t a puff of wind,
hands filled with thunderous storm clouds.
When will it rain,
when will it rain?
Her firm buttocks
are rolling breakers.
Faster than the dark,
lighter than a bird,
lovely, so lovely,
she strides beside the sun.