December 31

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This morning seagulls
called out whistle-bright

above the frozen world,
camellias under ice, clear

dawning. Now it’s night,
my bags are ready,

nothing is left but to savor
life,  packed down nicely,

finally, and this dry
cava, cold as a cave,

clinquant on the tongue,
like the ocean arriving,

a secret revelation,
so transient and divine

 

[HAPPY NEW YEAR! Optional Poetry is going on vacation, for the next week or so will be posting poems from the archives– new, possibly tropical, poems coming soon…]

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