Amazing the mood it's put me in.
And the sky's tint at this hour—out
on my own, occasional hum or zip

of a car, August the summer month
half the city splashes about
the Mediterranean, or north:

the beach at Donostia a jewel
—its Paseo the lip of a shell to walk.
It's hearing you what really pulls

me in, soft this interior punch,
recalling the sheen of your brow—we'd talk
with our limbs, the Liffey below, have lunch...

Re-lived this evening on the phone;
the pitch of your Dublin tone.