What if the ship were put together
with safety pins, newspaper,
cotton, paste and sawdust?

Or what if there was nothing to it?
What if the deck never happened,
the ochres and reds I remember

giving the lie, and at night
no beguiling surfaces, railings, rain?

And what if that port, the one that was
or might have been –

the open promenade, laughter,
palm trees, crates of coffee, papayas,
the sky almost a royal blue,

were just my love telling tales,
being there, colouring in
all the lavish and lost places?