Lopud Island
Sandal buckle, open
as water, discarded
like air. Adriatic blues
and shallow breaths.
I feel a question mark
in her arched back,
opening in me a
biology I can’t serve.
The limits of flesh,
tan-lines, and olives
by the bed. Time away
and time away –
Her torso tightens as
a current moves in her.
Ewen Glass is a Northern Irish poet who lives in England with two dogs, a tortoise, and lots of self-doubt; on a given day, any or all of these can be snapping at his heels. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in HAD, Bridge Eight, Poetry Scotland, Maudlin House, Belfast Review, and elsewhere.