Aug 212011
A voice wakes me with its pin
Niggling in my ear.

I can't quite catch the lapsing sense
In the folding moan of words.

The moon embalms the ocean.
Enhanced stars are blown about the sky.

The sea sneaks so close, I can hear
Its little million feet.

And there, beyond the crinkled cliffs,
A splinter of sail. . . .


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