On a fine curved beach
in early light
each reach of green sea grass
defined against the failing night
and past them
bent backed sentinels embrace the wind
roots rock locked upon the shifting shore.
A berry bog by a falling mist
is kissed
then lingers dark and sullen all the day.
Not far away
sea lavender, bunches bright
gently scent the air.
And standing there
with driftwood in the stranded foam
you will turn towards me
hair blown about your face
and I will feel the touch of grace
and fall in love again.
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