The Going


“The North Wind is a reed wind.”
I looked at his face, grainy and worn.
I wanted more than this, he knew that.
“There’s no profit in a dead crab.”
It was inevitable, as sure as growing up.
“The sand is as deep as your toe” I thought
as though my mind were his,
but the going away was growing in me.
Even if somewhere’s nowhere to be
you cannot stop the world turning;
the young dog sees the tree.
He sighed. “Only green apples cling …
the ocean is a long way home.”


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