On the beach…

At the foot of the cliffs, a fire

the red ice tumbling flamed

a monastery made of dream

the small scuttling hermits

dig themselves in

like we do

finding a sense of place, in the lulls

~

all is gold, in golden light

lucky are those who need little

keep walking is what I say to my feet

there will be this bend, then that

one navigates by stars singing courses

~

It’s these little fires, petite

little inches where you gain ground

at the base of the soaring shelves

someone had a fire last night, the logs

smoke scattered in their char

someone marked a stone

someone else lost a shoe

~

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