View from the Beach

They never seem to come in, those shrimpers.
Trawling a lost horizon
under clouds which seem to plane
the hard, smooth blueness of the sky,
this is left of distance.
This thing that you remember,
a touchstone for that other space:
arrested motion, letting before and after
fall off on either side, into silence.

A  day that survives to define the whole.

 

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