Out where Lethe meets the sea, past the bend
in the long arm of water, where the waves
gesture casually at the beach, is rest.
There are no bolts to turn—no shovel breaks
the mortal soil; no slee…
Out where Lethe meets the sea, past the bend
in the long arm of water, where the waves
gesture casually at the beach, is rest.
There are no bolts to turn—no shovel breaks
the mortal soil; no slee…
Rachel Cusk photo courtesy the author.
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