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cormorant, celestia.

diary 10/02/19:

1-

cormorant. celestia. a neighbour’s budding magnolia.
fuzz, tepal, whorl. waiting for april, all
of them. or early may.
well. i am too. petals falling to the pavement on a springtime day.
i close the rusty garden gate. it swings shut behind me.

2-

the steps to the beach are steep and mossy.
approach cautiously.
solsbro. seaway.

3-

i’m the sort of person that sees signs everywhere.
spirit, salt, sailor. a compass on the pavement. sacred, sacred, sacred,
and why shouldn’t i believe in magic?

4-

the Grand Hotel is grey and ghostly
with its tearooms and towers and spiral staircases. disused, mostly.
i’ve a fondness for near-forgotten, or faded places.
there’s a rainbow over the railway bridge.
stories untold.

5-

i make it to the beach,
and the wind is sweeping seaweed like it’s tumbling russian thistle
and i’m watching waves crashing and exploring little rock-pools,
i’m looking for crabs, sea glass, oyster shells too
(a pearl or a chest or a leviathan or two)
but there are three men, better prepared than me, with a metal detector,
i suspect they’ve stolen all the treasure,
and the sunlight’s bouncing off the water.
so i give up. skip stones on the sea.
i never learnt to throw them properly. they immediately sink.
i think a storm is blowing in.

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