I know not my appearance to the world
but see myself a boy stood on the shore
diverted by the ebb and where its whirl
pulls sand away, and how there’s always more
next morning, matched by pebbles or a shell
much prettier than any I have seen.
Although inside I’m cognisant of hell,
out here is heaven, close as I have been.
Diverted by the flying of my mind,
the gulls leave off their feeding and attend
to patterns that my calculus is trying
to analyse – to no effect. They end
up quiet, like me content, and pleased
to be live surface creatures questioning the sea.
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