Seaside

 

Old men walk

the sands

 

heads bent

body shrunk

 

shoulder hunched

against the wind.

 

Skaters skirt

children’s

 

scooters

 

&  the foghorn

warns of sea mist:

 

ice cream stand

hand in hand

 

the ghosts pass

safe in their

 

chosen

paradigm.

 

I’m sleeping

messages

 

from

beyond,

 

& you go on

believing

 

you’re

immortal.

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