Eva On the Beach
An unexplained fragment; a ship`s finger
Breaks through the crust of wet sand,
Alive with the last push of tide, salt
With no start or end;just a horizon
Of poor grass and toy ships and
the saline tears of fish; If you turn
This morning round in a wind of seagulls..
But,you say,
Unlike a picture this cannot be changed
Unlike a story this is not a ring.
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