i remember the shack
where inside i would go
to remember

this world and its white
wash of noise erasing
the past with a relentless

i try to remember to return
to places so vivid
they can’t be erased

shacks so crooked
everything written
within leans
acrosss the page
to fall off the edge
and roll across
the red plywood floor
by my
and onto
the beach

i raise my eyes
from these teetering
words to the world
beyond the built-by
my hands
down the trail
late summer, thigh-high
beach rye
see the eagle pair
on their creekside rock

the sulfur of
sea bottom
mud at low tide
enters the shack
and i remember
the excitement of
breath and heartbeat
the rising and falling
of the tide

two weeks passing
the shack from afar
across the channel
at 55 blurred miles per hour

i remember the sound
of the sea, though now
from my new home
i am content only to see
blurry distant beach-

Reach out and touch someone....

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