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| La Jument, photo by Jean Guichard |
Before I open my eyes
I hear the call of waves,
the moan of timber.
I had forgotten there would be gulls,
the innocence of sea air
on my pillow.
It breathes differently, virginal;
never inhaled
by anyone else.
I consider drowning;
I don't cry out
or wave my arms.
There is no anchor;
sighs from my lips and nose
rhythm the stillness.
The keeper stirs;
tends the flame; ensures
a safe and pleasant passage.
