By the sea
the urge to scream
drains away
like the tide
from the rockpools.
Of course
it will return again
but for now you can dance
above it, leap from peak
to peak, toe the harmless
puddles that remain
and smile, watching
the gulls fly abreast, in line
low across the water
like shallow-breathed search parties
combing moonlit fields
for pencil cases, schoolbooks,
underwear.
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