Charles Strietelmeier

Beneath a broken sky
Wind seethes across the shingle,
Water shudders,
No gulls cry—
This cringing winter beach
Begrudges company.
He still comes down
Because dead time
Hangs from him like a leech;
And here at least
He finds a fragment of relief
Among dull dunes that share
The bleakness of his grief.



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