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Feb 20
It’s morning! Finally morning on the even ebb of eve.
The tides! The marina’s tides are thick like wicker’s weave.

What sand has shifted? What news from Diego’s dawn?
From covers; the bark of seals sing like a bay yacht’s yawn.

Dinghy docks and pristine clamor; now I hear the bells!
No, not the toll it takes, but just the charm it spells.

I orient, I wake. I’m quick to smile; the sun follows suit.
Searching south; the daily buzz on right, and left: a bay that’s mute.

But the sound’s not snuffed, you see, motors have plenty to spare.
Because whether or not you knew or noticed, the navy never seems to care.

Compelled and called from my fruitful rest; muesli munched with jams.
These charts and graphs I take with me while I brew my grind of grams.
A cozy meditation on my morning routine. A little slice of life when the sun comes up in my neck of the woods. I feel warm and safe when I hear those seals. (Sometimes even in the middle of the night!)
Written by
Fleur  27
(27)   
  216
   Noami Victor and Michael Stefan
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