Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

The horizon was pencilled in then smudged—
what you saw of it was through the sand the wind
drew seaward in a white, chiffony curl.
It was time to have, as they say, a conversation about us
while the air turned gritty as a documentary
and the goldfinch bouncing above the rail
brought back last night and all my lust.
And so we spoke but also watched together
this box-set of astonishing weather:
brown iron rusted to the eye-feel of chorizo;
a shattered packet of basmati rice
floating in with the tide which turned deep taupe
as the gusty beach was throbbing silver—
the elements taking on each other’s colour.