Le Blé en Herbe (‘The Awakening’) by Colette
It seems I read all summer,
tanned feet stretched,
levellers on hot ruffs of rock.
I sought a coast I’d never met,
greeted the far start of the sea:
the sun fused me to its scent.
My toes quarried scorched sand,
rough grass punctured my soles,
sea-snails stirred in whorled casings.
I glimpsed shells like young bones.
Gulls shouted common phrases.
Words streamed the Breton sky.
The air about me foreign,
taut, I collected shells of meaning
I turn again against my tongue.