Night into Niebla

I came for the music
of salt laundering sand
and ancient, hourly trains.

There was something about
those cows,
 too,
leading their young

beside the cliffs,
a
bright sun making stark
the contrast

of black and white
on living hides.
I was wearing

everything but shoes,
had brought a small book
about shore birds,

and almost stumbled
as I came upon an object,
round as a planet

but inside out,
smooth throughout
with a rich, brilliant color–

the color of the face
of old men’s clocks,
of ashes nearly ripe,

the clothes
of puppet holders
or people unconceived.

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