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And from all these visions,

The shroud of mist sucked

At the clarity of understanding

Rain, and sea mist disguised, disfigured,

The drowning tide

Washing, breaking against walls

Encasement of senses, and yet

The picture, as helpless as an icon,

Hopeless as moist breath

In desperation, clings to the sand,

More fragile than the words beneath,

And the marble cold glistens

As silent as stone,

A memory unforeseen

The picture, framed distorted by senses,

Shrinks from recognition.