White Cliffs

Broken aching song

Flies south, along the treasured shores of

Glass. Haunting cracks of dirty windows falling

Splintered icy criss-crossed

Drawing. Across, the bleeding skin at

Dawn, sun smiles down on waves

Washing the broken song

To new sands, in mist and foam

Crashing into cuts of stone and

Jagged cliffs.

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When the metal splits and cracks and wipes

It's mouth

And breaks over the darkened waters

That glide softly beneath the wash, so silently

As if dead