Went to the sea last night, first act after landing,
And came to the water’s edge (alone and without seeing, across the wide berth of the shore), stumbling upon it nearly with the strips of washed-up tang
And felt the sting of very cold water swirling at my ankles and the bite of running on the sand
And the air warmer than the sea (for it is late winter)
And at the brink of the waves, the dissipation of sky and horizon in the fog cover, murk within murk, variations on night
And D. standing back on the edifice, holding a light high so I could find my way back to him
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