North Strand

North Strand cover FCP GRAB 1

The grey?

Imperceptible grey.

Diffused morning, soft tower through soft glow.

Pale edges make out gelatinous forms.

Cold fends warmth, our savior–grey.

Through the glass turnstiles and on to the fields,

on sea-cold velvet lay historical prints,

and on, into the grey, and on, toward the strand.

North Strand.

Softened edges- towering lights and looming sea.

I am here. We are here.

Jagged stone, white laced foaming firth.

And looming, of course,

the sea.

We have done good things today;

Listening, also hearing.

Sight without our eyes getting in the way

While we move through the sand.

Good things.

Empty bay.


The North Strand.

-K. Rose

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