Bites my ankle and walks away
I feel the aloneness it promised
Without the comfort of its love
I drift off like an oarless boat
Or one of those logs the waves
Finally throw up on the shore
From last week’s storm
I mean it no harm
Every morning I bring it
All the scraps I can carry
From the lost night-world
Though by the time I get here
There’s hardly a mouthful left
And that runny and unclear
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