I find my eyes amongst the hailing greys,
central, like the principal teaching
in an overcrowded frame;
colour as the beating heart,
and heaving skies around the margins, screaming
vicious to the suddenly uncovered,
though dutiful to the plot

There’s a brother of mine, dwindling
over the surface of an ocean
while I’m perched atop a buoy,  
staring fiercely at the horizon, trying
to open my mouth and swallow it whole;
not to throw the auteur, making
a blessing of my giant head

I’ll expel my dubious wants;
rent across the lino – paid, and
squandered. Will my paddling feet be next?  
I stay, and watch a punter whisper to his kid;  
he makes the case for getting down sooner, next,
to squeeze the establishing shot back through the lens