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Silent Sands

Posted on Sep 14, 2016 in Poems

Silent Sands

There is a point, marked with a red snapped spade
(for we dug like demons) a point where frivolous din

ferments; rendering silent the yapping kids and laughing
dogs, a point where a seagull’s screech can deafen.

It’s beyond the lug-holed vestiges, the seaweed-strewn
remnants. It’s beyond the Sally Mae; the barnacled boat

come ship come stranded dream.

It’s in a place between life and a tragic death you’d read
about in a local rag:

“Father and son drowned whilst digging for China”

It’s a point of reluctant return. From there, the factories
are cloud makers, the roof-tops; snowy mountain peaks.

It’s a place to revisit, with a sturdier spade.

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