Pieces of you drift by in the dead of the afternoon on the yellow tip of a wave.
The shark that came to shore at the end of yesterday rolls sickly, bumping coral like a tired drunk to avoid being eaten at low tide. He's not afraid of me; I'm thinking of you. So much gone from memory that I'm left with just your teeth.
His reading makes the poem, I think...
Pieces of you drift by
in the dead of the afternoon
on the yellow tip of a wave.
The shark that came to shore
at the end of yesterday
rolls sickly, bumping coral
like a tired drunk
to avoid being eaten
at low tide.
He's not afraid of me;
I'm thinking of you.
So much gone from memory
that I'm left with
just your teeth.
-Viggo Mortensen (in Recent Forgeries)