and are those strands
rain, or the ray's absence
winnowed, left for me to find
the water keeps us
it's what I offer, my being
a cowboy, a doorway
the ground is littered with houses
trees, sawblades, the heads
of seahorses
lean close, in case
the angling light grants us visions
a dream of the sun
gone to greet the sea like the creature it is
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