Remains
Clutching the mane of the wind that longs to rest
like the sound of salt ripening upon reaching The Seed Island
The seagull tracing the marks of its departed fledgling
circles the lighthouse where the fledgling’s scent shimmers
Lifted by the waves’ refrain
it becomes a kite of light
softly quivering like salt blooming in memory
Though the salt’s passage is harsh and bitter
it is a waiting that carries memory
quivering with tender anticipation
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