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This poem is taken from PN Review 50, Volume 12 Number 6, July - August 1986.

Tourists Grevel Lindop

A chisel nudging stone, chasing a curve
Out to the corner of the block, an eye
Slant to the line that draws it and the grain
Running its whorls to ripple in the face,
The mallet tapping measure, measure, measure,
Chipping an echo from a distant wall.

I walk along a flat beach where flat shells
Blink up to light under a spill of wave
And cloud back into sand. My footprints fill
And melt, fill and melt. Into the surf
I wade and dangle shoulder-deep in blood-
Warm water. Fish embellish the glass depth
Under me, dodging fissures of sunlight,
Winking and darting, and I think and think,
Treading the water, wondering how far
Jakarta is, whether there is a doctor,
Or will the fever burn itself away -
...


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