a steep path above whitby harbour
many feet have stopped here
to rest on this seat under the valerian
to eye the harbour
lit now at dawn
or diffused of colour at dusk
when the lamp is lit again on the
handrail down to the making tide
flowing into the river’s mouth
rising the working boats
again again again
identity is consummated
rebreathing the past
around me the ghosts
place a friendly arm
up you get son
tomorrow is another day
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