A turning tide, the wash of wave on wall:
esplanade illuminations, a string of grubby gemstones,
are gapped like missing teeth.
At the stub end of our summer season -
last beach bonfires, trying not to count the days
until school restarts.
Pier lights prick the night,
project a wobbly bar chart -
light descending, broadening to the margin.
Through a sea of littered cans we kick our way home -
separately together in love
with the same notion of liberty.
1986 / ix.2000
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