with a little patience.
do the waves feel joy
crashing on the rocks
spray flying, hissing,
they try to gnaw
and beat the stone.
or could it be pain
in the memory of earth
and salty foam
to be taken by the wind
into far away skies
as i sit here,now,
words like drops
in a glass of wine,
the horizon vanishes
fog and gulls
hover above the sea
and i get sleepy
as winter tired me.
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