Born reaching,
Always just beyond;
A shore too long,
A sky too tall —
A warm day, and
An aftershave,
And hours
Just before the fall
And here am I,
And there am I:
The sea-salt wind
That blurs my eye —
What does it mean
The distant ones,
Come down in love
To help us fly?
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Tagged: Tags Autobiography Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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