Mark Young
Afterword
One harbour in the long time
of a long coast.
Nightly the tugs come: refuse
and shadows.
Orphaned barges and new
loadings wait,
or the way back
to the beginning
will be empty.
The fraud of moment,
and I’m essentially afterword.
Continents of my ancestry:
the longer lineage;
and how the tugs
float out of yesterday.
There is no pure
business of the sea.
Page(s) 122
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