Crisp, stiffer than you’d like, the ocean roars at night.
See, lions watch, eyes alit, and you’ve been caught
When you shouldn’t be awake, and the grass is not
Your purview, not your fight, not till the burning light.
It punctures your skin, again, and the watchmen tense,
But it pierces your soul, to bloodlet the cold
And loose your stiffened, aching, full of fear but bold,
Your back to the watchmen. Wade swiftly to make amends:
For I abandoned you, cries the land, and aggrieved I show my hand:
“Look, your dirt road to forever is imprinted on me, look!
My barefoot claims were brushed away, my memories forsook,
But red, red clay is violently and always in my palm - my land.”
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