4

You stand in the half-light, the dimpled sea
Like silver cloth going on and on more than you
Can understand, a song stretching all pitches and tones
Until it is memory along the horizon’s hair-lip

The shoreline is a long finger stroking
Your shadow, trying to find the actual body
Just as you try to reach out to that thin line—
It seems as close as her scent, which is still
Somewhere in your bed that you cannot fall
Asleep in because it is like drowning

Arto Vaun

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