The
lonesome
cries of waders
and sea-birds
from
unknowable perches
in
the dense
darkness
of night
come
inland.
Souls,
wanderers of the wilderness
between
heaven and earth,
calling
from their purgatories
of not knowing
above
the tide’s mournful
washing.
And
the beacon lights
with
the eyes
of starved animals,
flashing
out from between
jagged rocks
on
the far coastline
where
shipwrecks have
happened
or
they wait for them
to happen,
whipping
darkness into mesmerising circles
over
the tide’s mournful washing.
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