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limantour in august…

high fog blanket
inching in west over the sky
dune grass flirting with the skin on my bare legs and feet

beside this ocean of grit and salt
that cleans all wounds
all excess and endings are consumed
ground down into smooth skulls
soft curves and pleasing lines
white and amber sand

i remember wearing seaweed like hair
in that pink and white ruffled suit
and even before then
when
i was first collected up into this body of form
given a name in the earliest of mornings

the sun is soft fill now
i throw down my will
now, as we cross the bridge over the dried up estuary.

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