I remember the vast
the night that could unlid the ocean, sky
hinged by the hurricane dike,
the old fort.
Three cannons, time took one, left
the others without iron
for decades. Behind it you climb the field overrun by stones ingrown in stillness
maybe thrown and
falllen from a great distance, discs arranged
like hanoi towers
inlaid shallowly, or
suggesting ribcage,
burden carried, life
spent towering
then death,
but then
so do the years.
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