Like the shimmering of gorse
behind evening flames,
Existence fraying like
childhood memory.
I’m pouring my eyes
upon the sea,
Painting a salt-ridge
around my boots
of gnarling leather;
Summoning the vastness
to reconcile what he
did – beneath the waves,
against the battered
sediment. It’s nice
to know the world is
soft at the edges.
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