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I pick my way over the rocks

more carefully now

than the child I can still hear

behind me

who ran heedlessly

wind and salt in her hair

across the fern-warm

seagull-calling cliffs

Ahead of me

I glimpse the crone

staff in hand

facing the unchanging horizon

a pocketful of mumbles

such are promises...

But for now the present

moment

is wild enough

dog at my feet

is wild enough

I taste with pleasure

the seasalt breeze

as our walk

turns us home