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Postcard from the coast

By Gary J. Whitehead / June 3, 1999



We must meet soon like sea

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and sky and listen to the winds

that rise there, feel what it means

to be that far out, where the chop

foams slowly inward, where

all this lost time rises and falls,

and where the cormorants flap

noiselessly toward land or any

solid, standing thing that promises

more than vast solid distances

and that elusive band of light

that burns untouchably near.