Sunday, February 24, 2019

Margate





“Swimming at Christmas”
other people cry
with leaves torn from trees
and ice chunks floating by?
But the splat patter
of my over exposed feet
willingly toe the frigid shallows
before I plunge legs, liver and face
below jade pale waves,
heading for shore
absolutely nothing left
except the only gift worth having
beating gloriously in my chest.


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