The end of 2012

This traveller was light,

all heavy

all sticks and bones

a bosom of nest-grass

and plastic tags.

This plastic bag for the specimens housed in the ribs

this set of tongs

these pincers.

This was the night,

with head lamps bobbing and winking over a low flat surf

and the stars like cold sharp beacons (ancient waves for the eyes in the dark)

Divulged and cracked with sandy fillings, moved by the shake and the shiver

Rivers in rubber boots and lights squinting through the wind

Warm wet breathers in the idling car, where the sea holes up in low spots


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