In the pub, along the coast: an Abecedarian

Absolution comes in an absinthe

bottle, green and

curvy

down the lines of this slim tourist.

Everywhere we looked the ocean

foamed like a

gray-green giant,

hovering around our feet.

In Brighton, the

jury was out, deliberating on our

knowledge of life and

living.

My life—washed ashore,

North of France—

Oui, je suis un oiseau. Je

parle le silence.

Que dit la mer?

Rest—be quiet now.

Somber pictures taken in the last light of a dying day.

The rain fell around our ankles,

unforgiving of our pant legs; this

version of us, a

weathered

Xanadu, a former kingdom—

yellowed and crumbling,

zigzags of a last memory.

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