The Whale-watcher Comments

And when at last the road
gives out, I'll walk -
harsh grass, sea-maws,
lichen-crusted bedrock -

and hole up the cold
summer in some battered
caravan, quartering
the brittle waves

till my eyes evaporate
and I'm willing again
to deal myself in:
having watched them

breach, breathe, and dive
far out in the glare,
like stitches sewn in a rent
almost beyond repair.
...
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