a harbour seal's polished head
breaks the greasy, grey sea's surface
which laps at our feet
on these old shores.
a coast worn raw
by the weight of days
and there is a weight of days
between us, but, at the thought of you
my chest swells like this ebbing tide
and something in me stirs,
as strong as the bristly pines we see
and as timeless as the sad ghosts who walk between them.
-N. Tabone
Havre St. Pierre '08
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