Poetry: Outer Banks | clivejames.com
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Outer Banks

Rain to which I wake
Cold into which I go
Little song, little song...

And the coarse unkillable cordgrass
On the dunes, detritus
Too ruined to recognize
Bare shell that shelters nothing
Nothing tells
What it has undergone

The pelican plunges
And the water closes over it

Wind lays its blade along the beach
Leaving shapes the beach can't keep

Whiter than the gulls the morning

Cry of hunger
Cry of warning

Ce poème en français