women of the seafoam and green
wandering the gloaming beaches
black hair on bare shoulders
the salted breath of a breeze
pacing on sandy driftwood porches
yellow orange torches light the scene
sighing marvelous is the night
luring in the feast like pulling threads
of light from the air
rocks rise from the sea
hear the wave crash roar
the hollow echo of dead voices
the cottage sits aside the forest edge
rises on its legs to the trees
greet the night hour the chanting
light the fire beneath the kettle
there’s no more casting of nets
the sun sets the water turns red
some creature meets the surface
for a bit of bread
a rising wave swallows its form
fingertips descend to darkness
as the sun slips below
the horizon’s crimson lips
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