it pulls the loose threads
the salty waves
unraveling tides
swiftly, to keep dry the towns
and sandals on doorsteps
but the same mirror's
hanging over landlocked countryside so
a drunk couple on the roof
looks as if they'er in front of it
they may fall off
their tongues gracefully glide
and any old barn swallow
tiny and perfectly brown
can wake trembling from a nightmare
tilt round head to see the glowing rock
and know the sun hasn't gone out
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