On Farland Point


On Farland Point,
on a windy bench,
we spectate…
watching waves grapple
road and pavements,
slapping into
the grey face of town;

with each smack,
a withdrawal,
and an intake
of breath at the effrontery…
then a rush to re-assault,

but one time belching
the torso
of a black spruce
up
onto the sand-strewn prom.

Spewing out kill.

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