Exactly between the eastward-rising moon

And the sorrowful sun, trace the limestone

Bones with your feet.

Let the red clover, thrift and grasses

Of the the summer cliffs whisper

On your passing ankles. July

Warms your back as it always did.

Waves slide on as they did on your long ago beaches.

Time passes, yet doesn’t.

The yellow vetch and golden lichen,

Colours of a child’s swimsuit in 1967

Are still bright, though your eyesight fades.

There’s peace in entropy.

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5 thoughts on “Sea cliff

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