Extravagance is peach  coloured  corals 
on ocean beds that have been swayed 
out of their trails, to spray as pink foams 
on night beaches pulled apart by hatch- 
ling crabs. The lights in my room are 
much unlike the silver haze-condense 
of a current winter moon. Soon enough, 
the mic of the  neighbouring  mosque 
will gargle out the static from its throat, 
and bring awake the kinds of blooms 
hard to open. When the first verse 
will break out of a dry thatch, all that 
sleeps must come to the litany pool. In it 
reflections will drown out distracting 
gushes of disposed waves, gasping like 
a swimmer's lungs swallowed many of 
the loose gems floated to the surface 
as waste. The taste will be of salt 
as  endurance  of palate. And when 
the second verse should roll like   
a long scroll to where the sand has 
several pockets of golden shadows, 
you will know the horizon has stilled. 

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