Memory on a full moon

Walking down the beach at night, cold sand under feet, fevered from some great happiness at seeing the blackness of the waves rushing forth, pale-edged and ghostly, and the sky a different black, nothing but vast space around me and the sound of water drowning out almost to my own ears my loud singing — when I close my eyes I am dark and bleed out such relief — almost there, to the place I cannot go yet, the vast peace, rushing forth almost there —

Always tugging at the back of my mind: the memory of the people I left sitting around a bonfire.


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