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Evelina stands
The estuary carpet-grey gapes
Open like a drowning mouth
Spilling, ceaseless, ocean-bound
Flows far below
The static stained steel
Which sways to the will of the wind
As it stirs the souls
But cannot span the gap
Between isolation’s isles.
Morning’s whispered breath
Mist-borne becalmed
Rises from cold waters
Its silent cloak of words
Wraps, embraces, takes her hand
Guides her naked feet,
A flight of air
A flushed cheek’s kiss
And held in gentle arms
No fall from grace
Or step too far
A river’s open arms.
Evelina stands
As morning’s cold ice eye
Stares sightless to the memory
A shrouded figure silver-cast
From far below
The weeping water wails
Pours out its broken tears and
Waits for its return
But cannot heal the gap
Between isolation’s isles.

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